The Untold Prophecy
by MusicChannySkyscraper
Summary: The magic of Arthur is a possibility that only few prophets have considered. Yet the young Prince finds himself plagued with nightmares and feeling things he has never before, much like his half-sister before him. Merlin's destiny takes a turn only few expected, but can he save the other side to his coin from his own prejudices? Set after series 3. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello there, Merlin fandom! Lemme introduce myself - I'm known, in my little corner of the Internet, as Amy. It's nice to finally contribute something to the fan base - I've spent the last few months since the finale (sob) reading all these lovely fanfics, and now I'm ready to post something of my own! :D**

**The story's set between series 3 and series 4 - canon up to series 3 - and it's going to be about 6 chapters long. I've written most of them already, and I hope to update weekly. I hope you enjoy this first chapter. Remember- reviews are like cake. I like them ;)**

**Spells are on the way, but don't worry Merlin fans! I've put the English next to them. Don't get too impressed - I don't know Old English. I'm sorry if you speak the language and I failed but all I had to translate was a website which only translated a word at a time. It was a lengthy process.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.**

* * *

**_1_**

He didn't really notice it at first.

There was an alteration – only slight, but an alteration nevertheless – in the aura around him. No-one really noticed it; only his manservant, Merlin, and his… well, he didn't really have a label for Guinevere (not one that he could proclaim openly to his father without being accused of being under an enchantment), but she did seem to note something was different. She didn't think it was bad though – she just thought he seemed… happier. That's what she had said.

Merlin, however, was a little more hesitant and wary, but the Prince put that down to his cowardly nature. The boy was never too fond of change. Well, maybe this change was good. It _seemed_ good. Merlin was just being his stupid, idiotic self.

There was nothing to be afraid of.

Arthur didn't even really understand, or even notice, when it came to his first little trick, if you could call it a 'trick'. Merlin had just left after finishing all of Arthur's assigned chores for the day, and Arthur groaned as he realised his buffoon of a servant had forgotten to close the door. He shook his head in annoyance and, getting up from his desk, he strolled over to the door and reached out to close it. His hand was merely a stretched finger from the door handle, but the door swung closed before he could grab it to shut it himself. His left eyebrow shot up a little, and he assumed that maybe Merlin had remembered to shut the door behind him or come back to do so. His theory, however, was short-lived, and upon opening the door and peering outside, he saw no sign of his manservant: he couldn't even hear the sound of his clumsy footfalls on the castle floors. Merlin was long-gone.

Perplexed, the young Prince looked back over his shoulder, suspecting that his window was still wide open and sending a breeze through the room – this would explain the door slamming by itself, surely. He shut the door and strode over to the window, drawing the curtains open, but his suspicions were yet again cut short as he saw the window, securely shut. He shook his head at the fact that he'd even thought that the window was open – he hadn't opened the window all day, and he didn't expect Merlin would have done it either. In addition, at this time of night he would have at least felt a chill if the window was open and yet he felt none. In fact, he had felt warmer in these last few days than he had in many summer days past, and it was winter.

Arthur sighed, giving in with his investigation. It didn't matter; he had more serious matters to deal with than a door shutting by itself. Maybe he _had_ pushed it shut; maybe he'd just misjudged distance and was too tired to notice. He was, after all, much busier nowadays.

After Morgana's betrayal a few months ago – although Uther denied profoundly, the picture of his life-long friend being revealed as his half-sister and traitor in their midst was too strongly engraved in Arthur's brain for him to pretend it was not true – his father had become less like the headstrong and powerful King he had been for the last twenty-odd years and more like a shell, a shadow of his former self. Because of this, Arthur's princely duties had been increased tenfold, and he was exhausted.

Deciding to retire for the night, Arthur, upon noting that he was not in his bed clothes, let out a long huff, but decided against calling for his manservant and, instead, got changed himself. He'd seen plenty of people change him before, and he wasn't a child – he could do it himself.

* * *

Nights didn't turn out to be as suspicion-free and calm as he'd hoped, as he was used to.

A few nights after the door incident, he had a nightmare.

He woke with a startled gasp for air, like he'd been underwater for a very long time, and his eyes darted around the room, just to check the shadow from his mind hadn't escaped and was hiding nearby, wandering the castle.

The room was calm, quiet. He felt stupid as he finally caught his breath and settled back into his sheets.

It was only a nightmare. He had had plenty as a child, and a small handful after entering adulthood – it didn't mean anything except that his mind was playing tricks with him and, as a knight, it was in his blood to have quick, sharp, instinctual reactions. Nightmares were just another way of training this instinct – the need to stay alert, avoid danger, and keep people safe.

Arthur loved his sleep – it was, after all, important for him to get enough sleep that he was able to fulfil his duties when he awoke – and so, after getting over that nightmare, it didn't take him too long to drift back off to sleep. However, though he expected the nightmare to be a one-off occurrence, like most of his nightmares had been in the last few years, he was sadly mistaken.

In the two nights that followed, his dreams were haunted by that same mysterious black figure that had appeared in the first. The first dream had simply been that the figure was only stalking him, chasing him, and in his dreams he had felt helpless; even though he was carrying a sword, the object he felt most safe and secure with, he felt that he couldn't be more exposed, more in danger.

The second nightmare yet again featured this black figure. It seemed to have grown now, though – in the previous nightmare, the creature had been, Arthur supposed, about a foot shorter than him (why he had feared such a creature, he wasn't really sure) – but this time it was just about Arthur's height, maybe a little taller; Merlin's height, perhaps. Though this surely didn't frighten the Prince – Merlin was hardly a terrifying monster to be feared – the creature seemed to come closer tonight than he had previously. The night before, the creature had kept a wary distance from the Prince, like it was merely observing its prey. But tonight, Arthur could recognise the location – the Darkling Woods just outside of Camelot – and, whenever he turned his back, he could _feel_ the dark figure – feel its aura, like it was resting right there on his shoulder.

But this dream wasn't the one to actually make the Prince worry that something was going on. No, it was the third night, when the creature actually spoke to him, that he started to worry that something was going on.

Arthur clutched onto his sword, so tightly that his nails were digging into his palm. Surely they would leave a temporary mark, but he didn't really care. He was back in the Darkling Woods again tonight, and the trees surrounding him seemed so much taller, so much darker than before; the thick branches hung over his head, blocking out any light from the moon above. He felt enclosed, lost, and very, very alone.

The wind quietly screaming around him didn't help his nerves. He knew that, as a knight, he shouldn't be feeling so weak, but he argued that usually, when in battle, he had his fellow knights at his side. Even when he was in a tournament, fighting alone, he had the support of his subjects and his friends alike, who were watching, smiling, and cheering from the stalls. Right now, his only companions were the harsh wind, the black leaves dangling above his head, and the looming presence of the dark figure, whose body was somewhere nearby but whose aura was resting heavily on Arthur's shoulders.

He didn't remember feeling so alone before. Not once in his life.

The wind stopped. A short pause. Arthur wondered if, perhaps, this dream was coming to an abrupt and premature end. But suddenly a wave of air flew into his face, and he guarded his eyes from the dirt that was charging towards his eyes along with the gust with his arm that was not holding the sword. He slowly turned, lowering his arm from his face to see his stalker only a short distance away. He raised the hand with his sword in, prepared to use any means necessary to stop this man. He didn't know what it was, but something was telling him that this man was a sorcerer. His prejudices, rooted into his mind years ago by his headstrong father, repeated to him multiple times that this man had to be some crazed, evil, magic-driven monster who had climbed into his brain and was trying to haunt the Prince into insanity. Arthur felt himself stand stronger at the thought – he would not let a sorcerer possess and destroy him like that.

Any traces of fear Arthur still felt were buried into the back of his mind as he saw the figure's shoulders jolt up and down, like he was chuckling. He was wearing a dark cloak and his head was bowed to the ground, but something just _told _the Prince that this figure was laughing, smirking at him. Arthur's face set and he scowled as he took the first step towards his stalker, his steps firm and solid. Fear screamed in the back of his mind but the Prince was used to channelling that fear into fury and using that fury in his battles. His hands were shaking a little but he closed his eyes and tried to convince himself that he was just approaching a knight that he was training with.

A knight that was dressed in a dark cloak and was presumably a sorcerer, that is.

Arthur was sure that his enemy was laughing now – he could hear a deep, throaty chuckle. It sounded painful and Arthur winced, but he did not let himself get distracted. This man was an evil sorcerer and he had to deal with him. He swallowed, his throat tight and dry, and tried to force as much authority into his voice as possible.

"Who are you?" He demanded. The figure just continued to chuckle. The anger Arthur felt building in his mind was crushing the fear, pounding it. If this man wasn't going to take him seriously, than he wouldn't let himself fear him. However, the rational part of his brain, which was small and faint in his angry, dream state, questioned that, if this figure was finding something comical, then perhaps he was the one with the upper hand.

"I will ask again," Arthur said, this time a little louder. His grip was still tight against his sword, "Who are you?"

The figure remained looking down, but he finally spoke. "Young Pendragon," He murmured. There was an amusement in his voice; though he spoke in a low and hushed tone, he clearly was not intimidated by his company. This just irked the Prince further. "We meet at last."

Arthur growled, "You did not answer my question. Who are you? I order you to tell me."

A low chuckle. Arthur was sure he heard one this time. "You cannot order me, Pendragon. I am not one of your subjects."

"Yet you are in Camelot and you will do as the Prince of Camelot demands."

Another chuckle. "So much arrogance." He said, circling the Prince like some sort of prey, "I can see you still have much to learn."

Arthur's impatience was growing like a storm in his mind, "To learn about what? What are you talking about?"

"It is of no matter presently." The figure said, pausing on the spot. "You will learn in time. And perhaps that time is coming faster than any of the prophets expected."

"I don't have time for this." Arthur growled, turning on his heels and storming off. He planned to get as far from this madman as possible.

"You are asleep, young Pendragon." The voice shouted after him; a weak shout, but Arthur heard it nonetheless. He stopped suddenly. "You have all the time in the world."

Arthur spun on his heels and came dangerously close to the figure, "Then I'll wake up. Get you out of my head." He threatened, pointing an accusing figure at the man, "We have one of the best physicians there is, and he has an understanding of magic – if that is indeed what you are using – he _will_ get rid of you."

"I am _not_ leaving." The figure said; this time with much more force than Arthur previously believed he could muster. "I am curious to watch this unfold."

"Then watch from afar." Arthur suggested, "I will not allow you to rest in my head any longer."

The figure continued to speak, as if Arthur had not spoken, "After all, this is all happening for you much faster than anyone expected."

This perked Arthur's interest, and his anger. Tightening the grip on his sword, which was previously loosening, he barked, "What is happening? What do you know?"

"You have been feeling different, haven't you, young Pendragon?" The figure began. Arthur lowered his sword, nodded.

"How do you know?"

"I have been watching you. As has been commanded of me." The figure explained.

"By who?"

"That is not important for you to know." The figure dismissed Arthur's question. Arthur huffed, impatient. No-one he knew would dare talk to the Prince like this. Well, maybe Merlin… but he was an idiot. An odd exception.

"But I find it interesting," The figure continued, seemingly oblivious to Arthur's impatience, "how you have not noticed what the prophets are noticing."

Arthur paused. "Noticed…?"

"The change." The figure emphasised. "The change that has been happening to you just recently. Surely you have noticed, correct?"

"I just…" For the first time in their conversation, Arthur felt his throat go dry. "I suppose I have…"

"And what do you _suppose_ it is?" The figure asked, clearly interested to hear Arthur's diagnosis.

"Um…" Arthur stopped to think. What had changed, really? He was happier, wasn't he? Or, he felt so, anyway… "Perhaps, the effect of the betrayal of…" His throat closed, and he chocked out his half-sister's name like a bad taste in his mouth, "…of Morgana… is wearing off. Perhaps I am getting over it." He knew that was nothing to do with it the second he spoke of it. A small part of him feared that he'd never get over Morgana's treachery.

The figure lifted its head slightly, for the first time. Arthur could only see his mouth – his wrinkled, damaged mouth – but that was all he needed to see to know this: the figure was smiling.

"Funny that you should bring up your half-sister." The figure mused. He began circling the Prince again. Arthur gulped. This was clearly a sign that his company had the upper hand here.

"You know Morgana?" Arthur queried. A shake of the head.

"No. No, not personally. Though the prophets speak of her greatly; some with malice and disgust, some with pride and praise."

Arthur could not understand what the figure was now speaking of. He ignored the subject of prophets, "Why is it interesting that I bring her up, then?"

The figure looked slightly up at Arthur again, his mouth showing, "Do you remember, young Pendragon, your half-sister before her betrayal?"

Something churned sickly in Arthur's stomach. He had fond memories of his father's ward – the kind, considerate girl who grew into a caring, headstrong, brave young woman. Arthur closed his eyes in mourning as he remembered that he had no idea where the truth of Morgana's loyalty ended and the lies began. He had pondered, time and again, that perhaps she had never truly been on their side. That thought scarred the Prince, ever so deeply, like a sword wound.

"She was kind." Arthur said, his voice shaking for only a second, "Loyal. Merciful. Compassionate." He swallowed, "As a child she had no signs of hatred or evil or anger for me or my father. She loved him with all her heart."

The figure smirked, "Surprising how people can change when they're driven too far." He mused, almost like he'd forgotten Arthur was there. "But that is not what I was referring to." Arthur stayed silent, willing the figure to continue explaining. "Your half sister was plagued with nightmares, was she not?"

Arthur felt his heart sink as he began to realise what the man was suggesting, "She… she was, but…"

"And you may have not seen, but she was also able to pull off a few little instinctual tricks, even before Morgause began to teach her magic."

Arthur's eyebrow rose. "…Tricks?"

"She made glass explode when she woke from a nightmare, once." The cloaked figure folded his arms, and Arthur saw it as a sign of disrespect and mockery.

"That is irrelevant."

"Oh, but it isn't." He said, and then continued with his points, "She also shattered a window, and started a fire in her own chambers."

He sighed, shaking his head. No. No, he was going to live in a state of denial for as long as possible. He was no longer listening. He didn't _want _to listen. Not if this man was suggesting what Arthur thought he was suggesting.

"I have done nothing of the sorts." Arthur said, his voice booming, though the undertones of his voice were riddled with fear and suspicion and worry.

"These things start small, Pendragon." He said, and a sigh accompanied his words. "Sorcerers work for months – _years _– to get to a point where they can be considered a threat."

Arthur blocked that word out of his head. He still didn't want to consider the possibility.

But there was a miniscule part of him – only small – which thought, very hard, about what the figure had said. Months. _Years. _If he was a… if he had…

He skipped that bit.

But if he _did_, if he _was, _well, he wouldn't be a threat. Not for a long time. And maybe in that _long time _he could find someone to help him stop it.

But his irrational brain still would not even dare to consider that possibility.

"This is ridiculous." He pointed an accusing finger at the shadow beside him, "You're just trying to trick me. I know you are. I _couldn't-_"

"Ignorance will not save you in this instance, Arthur Pendragon." The figure said, now grinning, "Though it is a talent of yours – one of your only talents – it will only make things worse for you."

Arthur's eyes widened in shock. Now he was insulting him! Insulting the _Prince!_

"How _dare _you!" He yelled. His fists clenched, he raised his sword. He was close to breaking point; close to losing his head and striking down this troublesome _creature. _"How dare you speak of your _Prince_ in that way!"

A small smile toyed at the edges of the creature's lips, and he did not move or cower from Arthur's sword, which shimmered when it caught the faintest shine of moonlight. "Speaking again of rank." It said, barking out a laugh, like it was no longer talking to the Prince, "Arthur Pendragon; the One who brought back the Round Table, who spoke of equality between all men. Boasting _rank!" _And he laughed again, like he had heard the funniest of jokes. Arthur's teeth grinded against each other behind his lips and he threatened the figure in front of him, resting his sword just underneath its chin.

"You will be _silent!" _

"No, Arthur Pendragon." It smirked, showing no fear. It didn't shake or cower like most that Arthur threatened; it was almost victorious in its motions, in its speech. "I will not." And then it took a large breath, preparing for something. It took a deep breath, closed its eyes, and Arthur stood, anticipating, and then it spoke again, _"Hætende!"_

Arthur yelled out in pain; his hand was suddenly burning. He dropped his sword in a shocked instinctual reaction and that gave the sorcerer – for he had performed magic now; there was no denying that he was just _that_ – to step a few paces back. Arthur's eyes darted back up to the monster, and his eyes were wild. Now he had seen the sorcerer perform magic, and do it for an evil purpose, he would arrest him. He'd heard enough from the monster, anyway – and, spewing from the mouth of a sorcerer, everything he was saying was all certain to be lies. He picked up his sword, which was still warmer than normal after the enchantment, but no longer burning hot, and stepped dangerously and slowly towards the sorcerer.

"By the laws of Camelot, I hereby arrest you." He scolded, forcing his voice into a state of emotionless authority. The sorcerer did not seem to acknowledge Arthur's words, though. It took in another large breath and Arthur could only imagine it was preparing for another spell, and so he continued speaking hurriedly. "For your uses of sorcery you will be sentenced to death."

But he was too late.

_"Byre,_ _fylst mé._ _Néadhæse __mé." **(Wind, aid me. Obey me.)**__**  
**_

Arthur grimaced. The winds picked up around him and he looked around, alert in case of any attack. He looked back at the sorcerer, whose hood had now flown off of his head to reveal an elderly face. Arthur had had enough experience to know that this didn't matter – aged sorcerers were no less of a danger than young ones. Age meant experience, and any sorcerer who had survived that long and not been captured had to be powerful.

The wind was building up around the sorcerer, like a tornado around him. The woods around them rustled violently and Arthur feared a tree would fall on top of him.

"Stop this!" He yelled, hoping the sorcerer would stop, but his order fell on deaf ears.

_"Ic_ _níedriht bæc hine. Sé æðeling níedrihtáwæcnaþ." **(I must leave him. The Prince must awaken.)**__**  
**_

The sorcerer opened his eyes, and they glowed golden. He ignored the wind building around him and focussed on Arthur, who looked at him with a mixture of fury and distress. The spell continued and Arthur wondered, vaguely, as a feeling in the back of his mind suggested that the sorcerer was now speaking, in this ancient language, of him. He swallowed.

_"Hé níedriht áscaþ." _His look of mockery suddenly turned to one of respect, though Arthur doubted it was respect for him. _"Hé níedriht áscaþ, swá Emrys cwide álæreþ." **(He must learn. He must learn, so Emrys will teach.)**__**  
**_

And then his feet were off the ground. He closed his eyes again as he rose, further and further with each second.

_"Fléam þone andan, Pendragon." _His eyes opened and glowed golden again. Arthur tensed at his name. _**(Flee the mind, Pendragon.)**_**_  
_**

"What did you to do me?!" He roared.

The sorcerer did not reply. He simply breathed out his last word. _"Áwæcnest." **(Awaken.)**_

* * *

Arthur swung forward, his eyes bursting open. It only took him a second to realise that he was breathing unnaturally quick. A burst of light came from beside him and he took a defensive stance, worried the sorcerer was attacking again.

Except when he turned, he only saw the tall, lanky figure of his servant with his arms spread out; he had just opened the curtains. Hence the light. His mouth was wide open, as if his usual "Rise and shine!" had died right there on his tongue. He looked confused, shocked.

Arthur looked down at himself and noticed he was lying in his bed, wearing his bed clothes and not the chain mail he had been wearing only a few seconds ago. He looked back up at his manservant, whose eyebrows were now knitted together, a crease of worry on his face, though it was mostly highlighted with confusion, and perhaps even slight amusement.

"Um… Sire?" He walked up to the Prince, standing over him, his hands held together, behind his back. He was clearly trying to cover up a snarky comment about the Prince being so (supposedly) frightened to see him. "Is everything… okay?"

Arthur sighed; almost all memory of his nightmare had disappeared, or at least hidden for the moment, now that he saw his clumsy, useless manservant. It nibbled away at a little part of his brain at the back, but the rest of his mind was far too busy wanting to think of some kind of retort he could use to make his manservant look stupid.

But nothing sprung to mind. He shook his head uselessly, looking up at his servant, who swayed back and forth on his heels, anticipating. "Yes, Merlin. Everything is _fine_." Arthur replied, in the usual irritated, impatient tone that was reserved only for Merlin.

"Oh, really?" Merlin raised an eyebrow. A challenge. "So that's why you're up and awake so quickly? When it usually takes you hours to even lift your head after I open the curtains?"

Arthur clenched his teeth together. "Yes." He muttered.

The bumbling servant was persistent. Arthur supposed that, after the last few days Merlin had spent hesitant at Arthur's minor change in aura, the servant was back to doing what he probably did best – annoying Arthur. "You know, Arthur, I thought I heard you mumbling in your sleep when I walked in." He pointed out, folding his arms, giving up his goody-good-servant pose (not that he was too successful with that pose in the first place), "And you kind of… _screamed _when you woke up."

A smirk played on Merlin's lips, and Arthur found his fists shaking beside him.

"A Prince does not _scream, Mer_lin. Screaming is for cowards." After he said it he couldn't stop himself. He fell into their banter almost naturally. Though, given his current state, it was a little _too _natural. He felt that, rather than stepping so easily into his normal routine when, really, everything was not quite normal, he should instead be hiding away from the world right now; hiding until he found out what was really going on. "_You_ would know, of all people – your cowardice has been demonstrated more than enough times in the past."

"Really? A servant who goes into battles with no armour – not even a helmet – and you consider him a coward?"

"It's not like you actually fight or do anything useful in those battles, Merlin; let's be honest." Arthur murmured, shoving off his covers as he got up and ruffled Merlin's hair, regardless of the man being a little (and _only_ a little) taller than him. "You probably just hide behind a rock until it's all over, waiting for someone to come and rescue you."

Merlin let out a little moan in defiance, and he shook his head. "I'm more useful in battle than you'd think."

"I don't believe that for a second." Arthur said, before folding his arms, "So, breakfast?"

Arthur hoped this would drive his servant away and give him a few moments to gather his thoughts about his nightmare, but Merlin, being the idiot he was, clearly wasn't taking the hint.

"You had a nightmare, didn't you?" Merlin queried, struggling to shove the grin off of his face. Arthur's heart sank, but he tried to not let his face show it. "Is that why you screamed?"

"I did not _scream_." Arthur growled, "And only children have nightmares."

Merlin shrugged, "I've had plenty before."

"That's because you have the _mind_ of a child."

Arthur turned away, trying to occupy himself with something and hoping that Merlin would finally leave.

But he didn't.

Instead, he sighed and mumbled under his breath, "When I have them, they're usually all about _you_."

Arthur didn't know whether to slap his servant for his rudeness to his Master or laugh at his effort. Instead, he just retorted, "I'm not deaf, Merlin – I _can_ hear you."

The Prince turned back to his servant, who was grinning. "That was the idea, Sire." The man chirped, before turning for the door, "I'll go get your breakfast."

Arthur let out a sigh of relief, before he considered that maybe thinking this through alone would not help. He needed someone with knowledge, with understanding.

"Merlin?"

The servant turned back as he was just about to step out of the door. He looked somewhat worried at the unsure, questioning tone of his Master's voice. "Yes, Sire?"

Arthur sighed – he didn't want to bring someone else into this, but after three nights of these dreams, and the incident the other day with the door, he needed counselling.

"Ask Gaius to come up to my chambers as soon as he is able."

Merlin blinked, a little shocked at his Master's orders, but he did not argue. "Right away, Sire."

And then he was gone.

Arthur sat on the edge of his bed. Alone, and yet in the company of too many thoughts, he began to piece together what he could of his dreams so that he could be as much help to Gaius as possible.

And then, as the flood of thoughts poisoned his head, he rested it in his hands, wearily.

* * *

**A/N: Le end... of chapter one :D So, what do you guys think? I'd love to get your input, so go ahead and review! Yes, remember this is my first Merlin fanfic, so constructive ****criticism is very much appreciated. Try not to flame though :P**

**Like I said, I hope to update weekly, so I'll see you guys next week! :D**

**~Amy x**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow, guys! Thanks for the great response to this story so far. Believe me, guys, I'm as eager to post as you probably are to read - which is why this chapter is up a day early! I actually proof-read some of it it on Thursday night out of sheer boredom. Heheh.**

**Enjoy! See last chapter for the disclaimer :P**

**WARNING: Tiniest Mergana mention at the beginning. Seriously, blink and you'll miss it. I don't ship them particularly, but I do miss their series 1 friendship.**

* * *

**_2_**

Merlin wasn't really sure he understood what was happening to his Master. It was a vague change, and Merlin knew that – no-one had really noticed and, even if they had, they considered it a good thing; that their Prince was finally leaving the dark hole he, along with most of the royal household, had been stuck in since Morgana's betrayal a few months ago. Even Merlin, who had known of the part Morgana had to play in destiny before anyone – maybe even before Morgana herself – had been shaken by the fact that the woman he had once considered as a friend, and maybe even a little more (though he'd never admit it to Arthur or he wouldn't hear the end of it), was now one of the many people driven on tearing the great kingdom of Camelot limb from limb like a disposable dummy that young knights-to-be would train with.

Merlin had even noticed that even King Uther did not seem to see Arthur's alteration, but then, the King did not see much nowadays, for he had been more gravely affected than anyone in the kingdom after the betrayal of his ward, his _daughter_. The headstrong, stubborn King, who had once been a man Merlin feared (as a single word from the King could lead to Merlin's execution; in fact Merlin was surprised he had survived this long), was now merely a shadow of his former self, with about enough strength and will left to fill the body of a measly rat. Though Merlin had never really liked the King, because of all he stood for when it came to magic, the warlock felt for the kingdom, the King, and his friend and _destiny,_ Prince Arthur himself, when it came to the ruler's crisis. The man was broken and Merlin could see Arthur's coronation coming almost too quickly. Merlin had waited for the ascension of his Master to the throne for almost too long, but the warlock knew that Arthur was young, untested, and felt himself not ready for the role to be thrust so unceremoniously at him.

Guinevere, Merlin's friend and the young woman who Arthur dearly loved, was one of those people who had, along with the warlock, noticed Arthur's change. She couldn't put it down to anything when Merlin asked her – she said she still loved him exactly as she had before and couldn't really, when she thought about it, pinpoint exactly where the alteration came from.

"He just…" Gwen had stopped. She thought for a second; for a few seconds. Merlin gestured for her to continue with a bow of his head, but she could not. "I don't know." She admitted with an apologetic shrug. "It's just… being around him. It's… _warmer_. Brighter. It's not a change in him, just a change in the area surrounding him."

"I see." Merlin didn't help.

"I'm sorry," Gwen flustered, "I'm hardly any help. You probably think I sound crazy, anyway."

"No, no," Merlin objected. That was not the reason Gwen's input was useless. "I agree with you."

Merlin had wanted to use magic to help figure out what was happening to the Prince, because he, too, had felt this… transformation. At first he thought that perhaps it was some kind of magical spell that someone had put on the Prince, but when he tried to remove it, he found nothing and realised he had been wrong.

Arthur hadn't changed in the way he acted around Merlin, per se. Nor had he said or done anything that wasn't very _Arthur – _well, apart from the scream that morning when he awoke. Merlin agreed with Gwen – there was warmth that wasn't there before. Just like Gwen had said - which was why her input was of no help as Merlin had already noticed it.

And, for the life of him, Merlin could not pinpoint what it was.

"Perhaps he's becoming the man he was again, before Morgana's treachery." Gwen had suggested to the warlock – a useless suggestion as it was one Merlin had considered himself. Merlin saw that bringing up the event even affected Guinevere a little, after all, before she betrayed Camelot, Gwen had been Morgana's maidservant and, above that, friend. Merlin considered how he would've felt if one of his best friends had betrayed and deceived him for so long, and he empathised with the girl in front of him.

"Maybe." Merlin agreed, though he wasn't too sure. He'd never sensed this tingle in the aura around Arthur before Morgana's deception. Whatever had happened to the Prince, it was brand new.

And it deeply puzzled the warlock. And, more than that, it scared him. What if it was something dangerous; something he had to protect his Prince from? How would he be able to save the royal prat this time if he had no idea what was going on? He _had _to find out. As soon as possible.

And so when Arthur demanded that Gaius come to his chambers that day, he was rather heartened, he found the hope he'd been waiting for. Perhaps Arthur was beginning to suspect that something was wrong too, and Gaius' diagnosis could probably assist Merlin greatly in protecting Arthur. So, before he went to the kitchen for the Prince's breakfast, he raced to Gaius' chambers with the news. The physician, shocked by Merlin's speedy return to their chambers and sharp instruction to go to the Prince's chambers immediately, had to raise his eyebrow in the same way Merlin had seen many times before when Gaius was suspicious of one of the young warlock's plots.

Merlin sighed. He had informed Gaius immediately of the change in Arthur about two weeks ago, when he'd first sensed it, to which Gaius had replied that Merlin was just being over-suspicious. Merlin had retorted that whenever he was usually "over-suspicious", he was also usually right and ended up saving somebody's life (Arthur's, most often), but Gaius had just shrugged that off.

However, a week later, Gaius found himself noticing the warmth around the Prince, which he'd never felt before, too. He had been delivered a sardonic, _"I told you so,"_ from Merlin but had dismissed it as nothing to worry about, though he was not entirely sure himself. He had suggested that Merlin just continue to act like everything was normal and wait for some kind of sign that they should do something until he got too involved, too suspicious.

And so, when the young man ran into their shared chambers, insisting that this 'sign' they'd been waiting for had come, he was quick to drop what he was doing and go straight up to the Prince's chambers, bringing only a few objects that he may have needed if his patient was ill in any way. Merlin had been grateful to see his mentor and carer head off to Prince Arthur's chambers. Hopefully he would be able to discover something and he could report back to Merlin, and then Merlin could figure out if this alteration was magical and, if it was, find a way to get rid of it as quickly as possible.

He just hoped he wasn't already too late.

* * *

Arthur was gazing out of his window at the citadel's courtyard when a noise disrupted his thoughts. He looked up at the door at the sound of a gentle knocking, followed by a questioning, "Sire?" from an elderly voice he recognised and trusted well.

"Enter." Arthur called out in a warm, yet authoritative, voice, and a second later, Gaius' head poked around the door and he entered the room, closing the door behind himself. Arthur, despite himself, smiled at the physician he had known for all of his life, who bowed his head out of respect.

"You wanted to see me, Sire?" Gaius asked. Arthur gestured to his desk, suggesting that they sit. Gaius raised his eyebrow, but sat in front of the desk nonetheless. Arthur sat in his chair behind the desk, folding his arms and placing them in front of himself on the table. He stared into the eyes of his company, considering just what he wanted to say first. He took a deep, hesitant breath. And then he spoke.

"Before we proceed, I need you to promise me something, Gaius."

Gaius was frozen for a second, possibly debating his reaction, but he responded after a brief pause, "Of course, Sire."

"You cannot tell anyone of anything I tell you – not a _soul_." Arthur told the physician, "Not Guinevere, not Merlin – not even my father. Is that clear?" He dreaded to think what anyone would think if they got the wrong idea. Would Guinevere fear him? Would Merlin shun him? Would Uther murder his only son and heir if he even suspected him of… Arthur froze at the word. He wasn't certain yet, he reminded himself – he had to keep an open mind. He had to let Gaius give his diagnosis first. Then, if necessary, he would think of these things.

But not now.

"Of course, Sire." Gaius agreed with Arthur's terms, which allowed him to relax, just for a second. The physician was confused – Arthur could see that – but Gaius had been there for him for years - longer than he could even remember. Gaius had been there when Arthur was born and taking his first breaths, while his mother was, not to the tiny baby's knowledge, fading away and taking her last. Something dark echoed in the back of his mind and Arthur shunned it away; shunned the memory of that dreadful day when Morgause had pitted father against son. His father had promised that he wasn't responsible for Arthur's mother's death and Arthur had believed him, but the Prince knew that his birth was still the reason that his mother was no longer alive. And, though it did not bother him as much as it had on that disastrous day he had seen the image of his mother, it still haunted him to this very day.

If he had not been born, his mother would still be living, breathing, smiling.

And yet if he had not been born, the Pendragon dynasty would soon be coming to a hasty end.

"Give me your word." Arthur asked, "Not a single soul." He insisted.

"I give you my word, Arthur." Gaius promised solemnly. The Prince gave him a thankful nod. "Now, what can I help you with?"

* * *

Merlin rushed towards Arthur's chambers at a speed that could be considered dangerous, baring in mind that he was carrying a large plate of food for his Master, which he was balancing very precariously on only one hand. What made it more difficult was the amount of people parading the castle corridors; Merlin knew that, should he drop the food, he could not use magic to stop it from falling in such a crowded castle. Uther may have been a broken, confused man but his ban on magic still had not been lifted, and the King had apparently was not broken and confused enough to not attend the two or three hangings and burnings there had been since Morgana's deception was revealed. He seemed almost more determined, now, when it came to the most desperate of magical accusations. Magic had, in Uther's eyes, stolen away his kind, caring ward and twisted her against him. It was the fault of magic that Morgana had turned, in the King's eyes – or at least that was Merlin's theory – and that is why he still found the strength to oversee the executions.

When Merlin arrived at Arthur's chambers, he, uncharacteristically, went to knock on the Prince's door with his free hand. But he stopped when he heard the voice of his Master himself.

"I'm sorry for bringing you here, Gaius." The Prince said kindly. "But I wouldn't have asked for you if it wasn't necessary. I just needed to ask someone about it, and you know much more about my problem than I do."

"There is no need to apologise, Sire." Merlin overheard his mentor assure the Prince. "I am only doing my duty to you and to the kingdom."

"I just was unsure of what to do." The Prince admitted, and that shocked the warlock greatly. It was not often that Arthur displayed that he was lost or unsure, and when he was he hid it; he was, after all, a leader to his people. If they gathered his confusion in a situation, then they would lose faith in him. Arthur valued his people too much and couldn't let them lose trust in their Prince, their protector. Arthur never liked to give too much of himself away to his enemies, either. If they discovered that Arthur was uncertain of a plan or a battle, then that would give them the upper hand.

"I understand." Gaius replied reassuringly, and Merlin smiled.

"What do you think they could be, then?" Arthur asked, and Merlin realised that he had started eavesdropping quite far into the conversation. He felt awkward standing there, but there was really nowhere else he could go, what with the Prince's meal in his hand and all. He decided to carry on standing there until he deemed it a suitable time to interrupt the conversation without either man present suspecting Merlin of snooping.

"I can't say I'm completely sure, Sire." Gaius admitted apologetically. "It may be that there is nothing to worry about, but keep an eye out for anything that suggests otherwise and make sure you report it to me, just to be safe."

"But-," Arthur stumbled over his wording. Merlin blinked. Arthur hardly ever did that. "But the sorcerer. In my dream. He said that-,"

Arthur stopped when he heard a clanging noise outside his door. Merlin berated himself; in his shock of hearing that a sorcerer _was_ involved, he had stumbled back a few steps, crashed into the wall behind him, and dropped the Prince's breakfast. What once was an appetising display of meat, cheese, and bread that Merlin would've happily devoured himself, lay sprawled across the floor in front of the Prince's chambers. Merlin sighed. He'd definitely be the one to clean that up later.

The warlock made a pitiful effort to try and recover the breakfast and bring it into the Prince like nothing had happened, but as he knelt down, the large doors swung open and his Master stood in the doorway, looking at him with irritation and impatience. His gaze was calculating as his looked to Merlin and then the food on the floor and then realisation added to the annoyance across his features.

"You really are a clumsy fool, aren't you, Merlin?" Arthur muttered. His comment lacked the usual sarcasm slightly, but he was still staring at Merlin in a condescending way. Merlin, in return, grinned a little too widely.

"Yes, Sire; every time."

Arthur rolled his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he really could've done without Merlin's clumsy and irritating nature, just for the day. He then looked down at his manservant and studied him again for a second. Merlin stayed, knelt on the ground, waiting. Finally, Arthur spoke.

"You weren't… _eavesdropping_, were you, Merlin?"

Oops.

"No, Sire, of course not!" Merlin chirped, a little too falsely, and Arthur could clearly tell it was a lie.

"Because you know I can get you into deep trouble for that." The Prince continued as if Merlin had not denied the accusation. Merlin scoffed.

"You'd probably just throw a bucket of water over my head or hit me with your goblet." The warlock mumbled, giving the Prince a false smile to top it off.

Arthur sighed intolerantly, wafting his hand around in frustration. "Just… clean it up, will you?"

Merlin's shoulders drooped. "Yes, Sire."

Arthur went to turn back into his room, but stopped himself. "Oh, and Merlin?"

"Yes?"

"Hurry up with my breakfast; I'm starving. And make sure you actually get it to my _table_ this time without dropping it all over the floor."

Merlin clenched his teeth together, "Of course, Sire."

"Oh, and one more thing."

Merlin refrained from replying with an exhausted _"what?" _and just waited for the command. Arthur's voice suddenly got very cold and dark as he spoke;

"Do not tell anyone _anything_ that you heard just now. If you listen in to this conversation or _any_ of my private conversations again I will feed you, along with the rest of the waste, to the dogs."

Merlin didn't have time to reply with some clever retort before the doors were shut behind the Prince and he returned to his conversation with Gaius.

Once Merlin had cleaned the floor outside Arthur's chambers and, not without knocking first, entered the room to give Arthur his (very late, which Arthur made very clear by the taunts) breakfast and dress the Prince (and in his presence, Gaius and Arthur failed to say a word about their prior conversation), he was almost flying back to his own chambers in a panic.

_'But the sorcerer.'_

Arthur's words haunted his thoughts.

_'The sorcerer. In my dream.'_

There it was. _The sign. _The sign Gaius had told him ever so cautiously to look out for, because that _sign _was the sign that magic was involved, and it was also the sign that, if magic was involved, Merlin should become involved, too.

Merlin sat on his bed in his room, grabbing the spell book Gaius had given him in his first few days of being in Camelot, and searched rapidly for a spell on entering someone's dreams.

Because that's what it had to be, right? Perhaps someone had entered the Prince of Camelot's dreams and was haunting him, trying to drive him insane, trying to perhaps change his perspective on magic or Camelot or even his father. Merlin winced in memory of the time when Arthur had tried to murder Uther and was terrified in case it would happen again. He couldn't let Arthur go so insane that he ended up killing his father, or maybe someone else just as close to him. Gwen? Gaius?

Merlin gulped. What if, in his rage of insanity, the Prince attempted to kill _Merlin?_

The warlock hoped that, should it come to that, he could use magic to save himself, but what then? Would Arthur believe that his servant, advisor, and friend for so many years was really an evil sorcerer? A monster driven on tearing Camelot to the ground? And what then?

Merlin didn't even want to contemplate it. He just hoped, with all his willpower, that it didn't come to that.

So he set out to find out everything he could about entering one's dreams. How powerful did a sorcerer have to be? Were there any items needed to cast the spell? Any potions? In how close a proximity did the sorcerer have to be to cast the spell?

It didn't take long for the young warlock to get impatient, however. He always hated having to search every spell, study every page, when there was a certain amount of pressure on him. He had to force his eyes to stay open, half the time, because he was just so bored.

He usually found these books so interesting when he was just studying for the fun of it. He could learn fun spells he could use to play pranks on Arthur, or exciting, beautiful spells that made Uther's accusation of all magic being evil pretty much moot.

But when he was searching for a specific spell, it was difficult to trawl through all of them – and there were _a lot _of spells – just to find one single spell that may or may not even exist, and it took all of his willpower and the thought of Arthur being haunted just to keep him going.

While he uninterestedly scanned over another useless page, Merlin considered his theory and began to question it. What if it was just Arthur overreacting? What if the sorcerer in his dream was just a figment of Arthur's imagination and Gaius had been right – there was really nothing to worry about?

But Merlin knew it was never that simple.

He hoped that, when Gaius returned, he could fill him in on what he knew, though considering Arthur's frustration at Merlin hearing just a snippet of their conversation, the Prince had probably ordered the physician to not breathe a word to anyone. And, though Gaius trusted Merlin and cared for him, he would probably put the Prince's order above the warlock's plea – especially if he believed that Merlin was unnecessarily getting himself involved in the case and shouldn't be doing so.

If only Arthur would confide in him about this problem. He did it all the time, did he not? If he had an overly grave issue or something that was pressing on his mind, he would often talk to his servant, and take his advice almost like he was an elder advisor who had been a trusted member of the court for decades rather than a young 'idiot' he'd met only a few years ago.

Maybe he would confide, though, in time. Perhaps right now the Prince needed to think things through before he got too many people involved.

Merlin just hoped that, by the time Arthur decided to share his issue, it wasn't too late to save him.

* * *

"Thank you, Gaius." Arthur nodded to the physician and opened the door for him to leave. "If anything else suspicious occurs tonight, I will make sure you are the first to hear of it."

Gaius nodded his approval to the Prince before stepping out of the room, off to treat his other patients. Arthur watched him go until he rounded the corner of the corridor and then he shut the door with a sigh. He walked back to his desk and settled back into his chair, placing his head in his hands as it felt too heavy.

That hadn't gone exactly how he had expected.

The Prince had hoped that Gaius would've walked in, listened to all he had to say, and then shrugged off the points, saying that Arthur was only imagining it and that everything was going to be okay. Either that, or that Arthur had been right – there was a sorcerer in his dreams – however, everything the sorcerer said about Arthur were just lies and Arthur did not have to worry because the physician had a vile of elixir with him to expel the sorcerer from his mind and make sure he could never haunt Arthur again.

Instead, the physician had told him (uncertainly, at that) that there shouldn't be anything to worry about, and asked Arthur to report to him if it happened again. Arthur told the physician that he would, but the answer he received really hadn't been what he hoped for. He'd wanted Gaius' visit that morning to close off the subject entirely so that he'd never have to worry about a sorcerer in his brain ever again. But now, Gaius was encouraging Arthur to look out for the sorcerer; almost like his return would make everything easier; that, if the sorcerer made himself present again, Gaius could have a more sound answer for Arthur on his question of whether he was okay or not.

Arthur just hoped that, if and when the sorcerer did return, it wouldn't be too late. As in, he had heard the sorcerer say his name within the spell he was casting, and he was, though he wouldn't admit it, afraid that he had been enchanted. Perhaps that enchantment was the reason he'd felt just that little bit different in the past two weeks. Perhaps it wasn't the first time the enchantment had been cast.

And yet, he still pushed the sorcerer's accusations and comments to the furthest corners of his mind. He just wanted to continue life as he always had, and only take action when it was utterly necessary.

A word echoed around his mind. _Ignorance. _A harsh, croaking voice scolded mockingly. _Ignorance will not save you in this instance, Arthur Pendragon. _

Arthur swallowed hardly, as if he could digest and destroy the thought and never see it again. But the sorcerer's harsh comment stuck with the Prince like it was his shadow, and he worried about what it could mean. At the moment he felt that ignorance was his only suitable form of action, because he had both his father's and his own duties to attend to and his day was far too hectic to be worrying about some sorcerer who may or may not have existed.

But if ignorance was such a poorly-chosen action to take, then Arthur did not know what path to follow. He had told Gaius of his nightmares, and so, for now, that should be enough action, surely. And Gaius would think about what Arthur had said and keep a close eye on him and take care of him should anything suspicious occur. Right?

Okay, so he hadn't told Gaius _everything _about his dreams. He told the physician that he had, for three nights, had nightmares that consisted of a dark, cloaked figure whose aura haunted the Prince like a ghost. He had told him that the sorcerer had spoken to him last night and he had _considered_ going into more detail, but Merlin had then dropped his breakfast and caused a racket outside and, although it had irritated Arthur to no end, he thought that perhaps it was a sign that, perhaps, he shouldn't be telling Gaius too much. Maybe Merlin's clumsiness was, for once, working to his advantage? What if Gaius had gotten suspicious? Told Arthur's father? How would the King have reacted to a sorcerer inside his son's head? How would he react to the suggestion the sorcerer made that his son…

He shook his head violently. _No. _He had jobs to do. He would not consider this now. Right now he had a court meeting to attend and he had to fill his father in on the meeting afterwards. If Arthur missed the meeting his father would be suspicious as to why, despite his shadow-like state.

The Prince stood up from his desk, took a deep breath, and found himself suddenly thankful that Merlin had insisted to dress Arthur after delivering his breakfast for the second time (this time, without dropping any of it), so Arthur did not have to attempt it himself. Taking one last moment to force every thought of the dreams and the sorcerer to the back of his mind and lock them away so that they could not escape, he marched out of his room.

Ignorance may not have been the best course of action. Perhaps not. He could not sit idly by, waiting for something to happen, because that was just not what he _did_. No matter what the sorcerer said, to his knowledge, Arthur Pendragon was not ignorant. He was not the kind to sit and do nothing whilst someone else worked for his benefit.

Though, now, there was nothing else he could do.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading :) I hope you'll take a few seconds to review. And rest assured, fans of Merlin and Arthur, I've got more of them coming up next chapter. Their interaction this chapter was minimal, I know, but I'm as big a bromance fan as the next girl, so I'll see you next week for that :D**

**~Amy x**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here we are again. Thank you very much for all your reviews, favourites, and alerts. I was particularly overwhelmed by all those favourites this week, so thank you to all of you guys! I hope you continue to enjoy this chapter - and, as promised, Merlin and Arthur interaction features in this chapter :) Dunno if you can call it happy fluffy 'bromance', but enjoy regardless :)**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Merlin.**

* * *

**_3_**

When Merlin heard the door to Gaius' chambers open, he shot up from his lying position on his bed, and groaned uncomfortably when he realised his left shoulder and leg had tensed up from lying in the same place for too long. He muttered a quick spell, just to ease the discomfort and allow himself to walk without an odd limp in his step.

He opened the door from his own little room to see his mentor putting away some odd ingredients for potions he'd taken just in case Arthur had needed them.

"What happened?" Merlin asked, trying not to sound too worried, but after the tiny slip of the conversation he'd heard, he wasn't really sure whether this was still nothing to worry about, like Gaius had first presumed. "Is he okay? What was wrong?"

Gaius kept a straight face, as per usual, and replied in a calm tone. "He's had a few nightmares."

Merlin raised his eyebrows at the physician now, gesturing for him to keep going. "I heard _that_ part. What else?"

Gaius frowned, "I'm afraid I can't say."

Merlin huffed in frustration, exasperation. He knew this was coming. "He told you not to tell me, didn't he?"

"He instructed me not to tell _anyone_, Merlin." Gaius emphasised, looking apologetically at his ward.

"Well, it's not like I'm going to betray him and give away the information to Morgana, is it?" Merlin kept his temper under control, because he didn't want to yell at Gaius, but he didn't like being in the dark. Especially when it came to Arthur. He wanted to know everything he could, at all times. It was, after all, his destiny to keep Arthur safe so that, one day, they could unite Albion together. He doubted he could achieve this destiny if he'd lost sight of Arthur for one second and the young Prince had ended up dead, or on a different path to the one destiny planned for him.

"I don't think that's what he is worried about, Merlin."

Merlin sighed, "He's too worried about his pride, isn't he?"

"I think he's trying to keep it as low-down as possible." Gaius enlightened gently. "He doesn't want his father to find out - probably in case there is magic involved."

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in desperation. "That doesn't help me at all." He muttered, "I need to get ahead of whatever's happening. I need to find out what is going on, or Arthur could be in danger." The warlock began pacing, just a little. He paced aimlessly up the room, and then back down again, before turning back to his carer. "What did you tell Arthur to do? Did you give him a sleeping draught?"

Gaius shuffled a little, almost as if he was ashamed that he hadn't considered it. "I told him to report to me if he had another dream in case-,"

"In case of the sorcerer?" Merlin prompted. "I heard that part too." If Gaius was feeling any anger or irritation at Merlin's eavesdropping, he didn't show it. He stood, watching the boy, remaining completely stoic. So Merlin calmed himself down and instead talked to his elder in a pleading tone. "Gaius, whatever is going on, magic is involved. Please, I need you to tell me what is going on, because while we're sitting here just waiting, a sorcerer could be out there plotting Arthur's demise. You know I can't let that happen. _Please._"

Gaius watched Merlin for a good few moments. The look on his face was indecisive and questioning – betray the Prince, or save him?

He shook his head after a few moments, apologetic. "I'm sorry, Merlin, I can't. Not until I'm certain of what is going on." Merlin's shoulders dropped noticeably.

"And while you do that," Merlin mumbled, "the sorcerer will be planning Arthur's destruction. And there's nothing we can do to stop him."

* * *

Hours later, and Merlin was far into his list of chores. Chores which, on a normal day, he would despise, but he was glad that today they were distracting him from his thoughts. Though the menial nature of the tasks allowed his mind to wander, at least he was polishing Arthur's armour as oppose to reading page after page of useless spells.

That's how he felt. Useless. Usually he'd have a plan by now, or at least a vague idea of what was going on and a hint of an idea of how he was going to stop the enemy's plot. But, as he watched the sun rise into the sky and then sink below the forests as the day went by, he felt more and more like the worthless servant Arthur claimed him to be.

He just wished Arthur had confided in _him,_ rather than Gaius. He understood _why_ he spoke to Gaius – not only was he the Court Physician, but he had know Arthur since the day he was born – but if Arthur had chosen to confess about his dreams to Merlin that morning, when he'd woken him up, then Merlin could be working on a plan right now, helping Arthur with whatever was going on, and getting rid of this 'sorcerer' that had supposedly entered Arthur's dreams. And, if these dreams had been an ongoing thing, like Gaius said, for how long? How long had a vengeful sorcerer been driven on possessing the Prince of Camelot's dreams? And what had he said, or done, to stick so strongly to Arthur's mind?

But then, what if Gaius _was _right? Merlin hadn't completely ruled out the possibility that, maybe, the sorcerer was doing this for good. Or maybe it was just Arthur's mind messing with him.

But really, when did that ever happen before?

Merlin knew that, though he hadn't let go of the possibility that, this time, nothing was threatening the safety of his future King, he wasn't going to let his guard down either. He made a self-set oath that he would keep an eye on Arthur whenever he was around him and make sure he remembered everything that seemed off about the Prince's behaviour. He'd also make sure that, whenever he could, he'd try to prompt Arthur to tell him what was going on, just so that he wasn't so much in the dark.

And so, when twilight approached, and when Merlin was dressing the Prince in his night clothes, he made sure he did just that. He tried to not make it too obvious to Arthur of his plan, because he knew then that the Prince, considering his previous reaction to Merlin's eavesdropping, would be furious should he realise what was happening. Merlin really wasn't up for Arthur's wrath tonight, and he was sure that Arthur would be less than happy to deliver a punishment. After a hectic day, he was clearly exhausted; he would not show it, but his slow movements and the way he rubbed his eyes as Merlin tried to help him out of his boots suggested that these nightmares hadn't done just mental damage to the Prince but also deprived him of his usually undisturbed sleep.

"You alright, Sire?" Merlin asked, hiding a laugh as Arthur yawned, looking younger than Merlin had ever seen him.

"I'm _fine, _Merlin." Arthur snapped, but his body betrayed him and another yawn escaped his mouth, causing Merlin to grin in victory.

"Uh, really?" The warlock pressed. "Because, you seem so tired that you can barely stand."

"I am _not _tired." Arthur whined, almost like a child protesting against bedtime.

"It's okay," Merlin continued regardless, helping the Prince shrug on a shirt, "I understand; you've had a busy day, and you're exhausted. We all get days like those, sometimes."

"Not me." Arthur growled under his breath, emphasising each word.

Merlin was relentless. "Well, I only usually have a bad day if I've had a bad night beforehand." Arthur seemed to tense at the words, only slightly, but his expression was smooth and he did not seem to be playing along with the game his manservant was so desperately playing. "You know; those horrible nights when you can't sleep?"

"My sleeping habits are like that of a hibernating animal." Arthur grumbled. Merlin shrugged as he turned to the wardrobe to find a pair of breeches.

"Well, you got the animal part right." The servant mumbled, quietly enough so that one could only hear from a few feet away. Unluckily for Merlin, his Master was stood right beside him.

"I heard that." The Prince snarled. Merlin raised his hands in surrender, "But as I was saying," Arthur continued sharply, "I haven't had a restless night since I was a child."

"Well, anything can spur a restless night." Merlin said, seeming to be, for the first time, throwing in the towel at whatever game he was playing, in Arthur's eyes. However, Merlin knew he was not one to give in so prematurely. The silence from the servant was short-lived and he spoke again, "You could've had something on your mind. Maybe about a meeting?"

Arthur sighed. "No." He answered shortly.

"Were you thinking about someone, maybe? Worrying about your father? Or Gwen?"

"_No._"

Merlin had had enough of throwing bait now and eagerly went in for the kill. "Then it must've been about those _dreams_ you've been having."

Almost instantly Merlin knew he'd made a mistake. Arthur may have not been in a fully alert condition, but Merlin saw his fists clench and shoulders hunch at his words. Arthur took in a sharp intake of breath, span around to face his servant, who had been stood right behind him while he put on his breeches, and charged towards him. Merlin, out of pure instinctual fright, backed up until he collided loudly with the wardrobe. Arthur raised his fist, pressing his free hand onto Merlin's chest to keep him in place, and Merlin hoped it was just for effect.

"I told you not to mention that." The Prince warned coldly.

"No, you told me not to tell anyone else, and to not listen in to any more of your conversation." Merlin corrected, though his hands were shaking a little. He didn't know whether his shaking hands were doing so out of just normal human fear or if it was his magic trying to push itself out in protection, but he gritted his teeth behind his lips and tried as hard as he could to suppress his magical urge in front of his unknowing Prince who was mad enough as it was. He swallowed, "And I didn't."

Arthur's face was screwed up in anger and he was breathing almost violently. He glared furiously at his manservant, before lowering his fist, removing his hand from the boy's chest. He let out a long sigh, before poking his finger sharply to Merlin's chest.

"What is going on is none of your business, _Mer_lin." He said, the anger in his tone a lot less than before, but still present enough that Merlin felt that the Prince would probably be tempted to hit him at any moment, should he give him reason to. "You are not to mention it, and that is an order."

"But, maybe I could help!" Merlin offered desperately.

"An _order, _Merlin!" Arthur repeated, his voice rising dangerously.

"Arthur, I only want to help you." Merlin said, his voice low. His expression was soft and he was still; the complete opposite to his Master, who was now pacing in front of him.

Arthur was scowling. He snapped his body around to face Merlin again. He let out a hollow, callous snort of derision. "Can you _never _do as you're told, Merlin?" The Prince asked, "I am your Prince and your Master and you will _listen_ to me when I give you an order!"

"Arthur…" Merlin spoke quietly, so as not to provoke the fuming man who, despite being a little shorter, was now towering over him. He inhaled carefully. "You're not just my Prince, or my Master. You're my friend. I want you to be safe, happy; whatever has happened, it's obviously upset you, and I want to help you."

Another derisive laugh. It was cold and empty, and it made Merlin shudder.

"This is out of your hands, _Mer_lin." The Prince barked, coming dangerously close to his face. Merlin's magic bubbled inside of him, but he kept it down. "This is too far out of your power for you to be of _any _use." Arthur turned on his heels, scoffing, "You're just a _servant!"_

The Prince kicked angrily at his shirt, which had been abandoned on the floor in a fit of rage, his breathing jagged. Merlin himself took a couple of deep breaths, not yet ready to give up on the Prince. He approached Arthur, who was stood by his bedside now, in the same way that an animal enthusiast would approach a rare and beautiful, but anxious, member of a species. This was just how Merlin saw his Prince – rare; maybe even one-of-a-kind. Yet, in this state, he was easily agitated and the slightest wrong move on Merlin's part could be fatal for his cause. Merlin didn't dare to put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, in case he recoiled and shut him out for good; rather, he stood just behind him, comforting, his presence inviting but not demanding. Arthur seemed to calm down, if only just a little.

"Arthur," Merlin spoke again, this time, though calm, with a determination in his voice. "I'm not going to let you get hurt." And he meant it. He really, really did. He had for years and he wasn't going to stop now.

Arthur was silent.

"Whether I'm just a servant or not," Merlin continued, "I will always be here for you. I will always lay down my life for you, be here to help you… but I can't help you if you don't tell me the problem."

Arthur seemed to be combating something inside his head. He twitched a couple of times, he shook his head, he paced backwards and forwards… he stopped finally and Merlin hoped he would turn to face him with a small smile and confide everything in his servant.

"Get out." It was a whisper, but the harshness in it was clear.

Merlin's heart sank. "Arthur-,"

_"Out!" _Arthur screamed at the top of his lungs, and Merlin recoiled back a step. Arthur's uneven breathing slowed and a look of guilt flashed across his face. Whether it was for scaring his servant or at the thought that he could have woken people in neighbouring rooms, Merlin was unsure. But the next look that crossed Arthur's face was… almost pleading. A silent message of '_please leave me alone' _passed through the Prince's eyes as he looked up at the warlock. Merlin's feeling of hopelessness only climbed at this. Arthur never begged. Arthur was never so desperate unless he was desperate for a good cause. And he certainly never gave off a look that was so pathetic, so pitiable; it was like he just couldn't do this right now and was pleading Merlin to realise that.

And he did. Without so much as a respectful nod, the servant was out of the room and down the corridor, though reluctantly, as fast as he could.

But what he didn't see was the Prince watching the door long after his servant had left the room, before collapsing onto his bed and letting his head fall limply into his hands as he shook it from side to side, a sigh of desperation fleeing from his throat.

* * *

"I'm doing it." Merlin concluded as he strode into Gaius' chambers, slamming the door behind him. Gaius looked up from a book he was reading to see his ward pace straight into his room, only to emerge a few seconds later with the magical spell book he'd given him in his first week in Camelot clutched in his right hand. "I don't care if you tell me to not get involved – I'm sick of waiting."

The physician looked up at his ward but did not reply or reprimand him in any way; rather, he bowed his head back down with a sigh, clearly knowing it was no use questioning what the warlock had in mind and for that, Merlin was grateful. He didn't want to argue with his carer, like he had that morning.

With that thought a curl of guilt spiked at Merlin's chest like a stab in the gut. He looked softly at the man across the room.

"Gaius?"

The physician looked up again, replying patiently, "Yes, Merlin?"

The warlock bit his lip, "I'm sorry. Sorry for arguing with you, this morning."

Gaius' gaze was soft, and Merlin felt comfortable; his guilt was washed away like rubble that had quickly rushed to the shore before being dragged back to sea again. "Don't worry, Merlin." He assured him, "You were only doing what you felt would be best for Arthur. I cannot blame you for defending what you believe to be right."

Merlin was smiling now; a large, bubbly smile that most of the castle residents would recognise as Merlin's personal smile.

"Thank you," Merlin replied.

"Oh, and Merlin?"

"Yes?"

Gaius gave him a caring smile, "Whatever it is you're planning now… just be careful."

Merlin forced a reassuring smile onto his lips, because, though he believed that he would be fine as he had gotten himself into far worse scraps than this in his time in Camelot, he didn't really know what he was even doing, or if there really was even a spell for it.

"I will." He promised, not allowing the promise to sound hollow, before shutting his door behind him and striding towards his bed, dropping onto the bed and opening the book at the page he had left at that morning.

After the argument with Arthur, Merlin was even more determined now than he had been before to come up with a plan. It was clear to him now that the Prince would not change his mind on keeping his dreams as closed-off as possible to the likes of Merlin, and though the warlock knew his plan was an invasion of Arthur's privacy and that he could get into a large sum of trouble if he was caught, he also knew he had no other option and _had_ to do it – for Arthur. For the Prince's protection and his protection only. He knew that he wouldn't dare such a task if the circumstances weren't so impossible.

The task being that he planned to find the spell he had been searching for – the one used to enter one's dreams, that is – and use it himself to enter the Prince's dreams and see with his own eyes what was truly going on inside his head.

Merlin just hoped the spell wasn't a difficult one – one that took days, weeks, months, or maybe even _years_ to master. He didn't have years. He had a few mere hours, maybe two or three, to make sure that Arthur was deep enough into sleep for there to be dreams to view.

And he hadn't even found the spell yet.

Groaning, the warlock collapsed onto his bed, holding the book over his face a few inches away. He sighed as he flipped another useless page.

He had a couple of hours.

And he hadn't even found the damned spell.

* * *

Time passed slowly. Of course it did. Trawling through spell books purposefully was hardly a way to make time pass quickly, and it was really only this sense of purpose raging in Merlin's chest that kept him awake. But then, it was only really when he was just about falling asleep on himself when he spotted it.

His eyes scanned across the paper and he sighed in relief – the spell was simple enough, for someone of his level. He'd had enough practice that he knew he could probably perform it without a hitch, and, though he sometimes had difficulties with his pronunciation of the ancient language, he didn't see it as his biggest worry in the mission.

To Merlin, his greatest fears lay _after_ the spell was cast. What would he find in Arthur's mind? Would Arthur realise that Merlin wasn't just a figment of his imagination? And in how bad of a state would the Arthur be in? That was what he feared the most. Was he being tortured? Was he in jail in a faraway kingdom run by evil sorcerers? Merlin dreaded to think what was poisoning the Prince's mind so deeply.

Merlin firstly checked that Gaius was asleep before he cast his spell, just so the physician couldn't suss out what he was doing and then tell him that he shouldn't. But his carer was sound asleep – where he usually dozed off; at his desk – and so Merlin got to work with psyching himself up for the spell. He reached inside himself, and his magic responded almost eagerly. It had been locked away for a good few hours; desperately suppressed during his fight with Arthur. Merlin knew that his magic was certainly, after being so ready to respond earlier, going to cooperate with his plan.

The warlock sat on his bed, cross-legged, and his hands in his lap. He read the spell in the book a few times until he had it memorised. He closed his eyes, urging his magic up further and further until it felt like a bubble of power within his chest. Now all it required was for Merlin to say the words.

Taking a deep breath, Merlin spoke;

_"Ábeþecest þá swefn sylfum Arthur Pendragon." __**(Find the dreams of Arthur Pendragon.)**_

Merlin pictured the Prince in his mind, recalling that the spell needed every little detail of his subject he could deliver to make it as successful as possible. He remembered the colour of his hair, his eyes. His nose, his mouth, chin, cheeks. His height, his size – his stomach, which was most definitely not getting fat no matter how much Merlin joked that it was. The clothes he wore – armour, ceremonial robes, night-time clothing. His boots, which were far too tight, too tough to remove.

His personality – his rudeness, his sarcasm, his arrogance, confidence. The power he put into swinging a sword. His kindness and gentleness despite everything on the exterior. His potential, growing every day, to become the greatest King Camelot had ever known. His likes and dislikes. His idolising of his father, regardless of his numerous mistakes. His fondness, his love, for Gwen. His despair at losing Morgana, his anger at the woman for her betrayal, and, at times, his anger at himself, because at his weakest points he would consider just what had turned Morgana to the ways of evil and then berated himself for not doing something to help the girl he had considered a sister before he'd even known that she really was one.

He pictured the King that he knew Arthur would become; tough, brave, and headstrong, but wise and gentle, a good listener; a King who would value the opinions of others, as Arthur did as a Prince. He would be the Once and Future King, the King who would unite the land of Albion.

His magic was bubbling, almost cheering, for its target. It glowed around Merlin, a blue glow which sparkled, looking like a bubble of protection for the sorcerer.

Now smiling at the thought of his Prince, his Once and Future King, Merlin continued the spell.

_"Scéawungmé þá swefn. Ásetemé æt se_ _blædsylfum Arthur Pendragon."__** (Show me those dreams. Transport me to the mind of Arthur Pendragon.)**_

And then he opened his eyes again and they flashed a brilliant golden colour, and everything changed amongst him. His bedroom walls faded, like the whole castle was dissolving in front of him. It faded in, and out, like it couldn't really decide – like eyelids fluttering open and closed.

Then everything was gone. The surroundings were a blurry mix of grey and red - the Camelot red. He could hear muffled speech and see the rush of people charging past him, eagerly chatting about something that was happening, but as of now Merlin could not make it out.

But the blur was soon interrupted by a figure crashing into him. The figure mumbled something rudely about Merlin being drunk and Merlin was shocked at how detailed Arthur's dream was – as there was no doubt in Merlin's mind that this man's belief of Merlin being drunk was probably down to Gaius' countless claims of Merlin being in the tavern; Merlin resented these accusations, as whenever they were made, Arthur was particularly irritable after these days, and making many crude jokes about how he didn't think Merlin was the drinking type and that any mistakes he made were down to his drunk state and that he deserved extra work just for letting himself get so intoxicated.

Merlin found his eyes and ears adjusting. He was glad the blue bubble was no longer present as it was clear that he was somewhere very public. He blinked a couple of times, twisting his head from side to side. He was in the courtyard, he realised.

He caught faces. He caught sight Gaius, of the Knights – Gwaine, Percival, Leon, and Elyan, most recognisably. He saw Lancelot in the front of the crowd of Knights and his forehead creased with confusion when he saw Gwen cuddled against Lancelot's body, her chest rested on his shoulder. Merlin stepped forward, pushing himself towards the familiar faces, shoving past the crowds and muttering apologies that he was sure they couldn't hear.

It was only when he got close enough that he could see the anger and hatred and malice on his friend's normally kind and pleasant expressions. Even for a second, Gwen looked up, and she looked angry, terrified; like she had been crying. There was also that determination he was so used to seeing on Gwen; the determination that shone through, even in her darkest moments, where she would put on a brave face and never let her sadness and desperation devour her. Her strength was admirable, to both Merlin, and clearly Arthur, too.

And then Merlin heard them. The drums. The drums that certainly hadn't been there before – or perhaps he hadn't tuned into them before. But now they bellowed over the chatter of the people; deep, heavy. Merlin's eyes rested on the gallows and he realised this was an execution. Before he could begin to question whose it was, a figure came into view upon the gallows, and a pair of blue eyes well above the others caught onto his, desperate and, if it wasn't very rare occasions Merlin had witnessed before, unrecognisable.

His heart sank as he took in the figure that stood above the others; the people who looked up at him with true malice and disgust.

Arthur's eyes darted around at each malicious glare, before they rested, finally, on Merlin. The desperation did not go away; rather, it increased, fuelled with something new; maybe some kind of useless hope. Merlin watched, feeling helpless as his heart sank down to his boots. He swallowed, but his throat stayed dry as a desert. There was a thumping in his chest; a thumping he feared would never disappear.

He watched, unable to move, as guards led Arthur towards the rope. He couldn't break eye-contact with his Prince and he tried his hardest to give him the softest, kindest look he had probably received in the whole dream. He wanted to reassure the Prince; he wanted there to be some normality in this nightmare, whatever it was. He wasn't sure whether or not it was wise to intervene and he expected probably not, but that didn't stop him from staring longingly back at Arthur, not with fury or frustration like everybody else, but with care and kindness and, above all, an apology.

And that was when the Prince snapped. In a rage of anxiety and pain, he began yelling, uncharacteristically, hysterically.

No one could stop him.

* * *

**A/N: Yay cliffhangers :P I realise you're probably all super confused right now, but don't worry, all will be explained next chapter! Make sure to review, and I will see you then! :)**

**~Amy x**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey there, lovely readers! Gratitude goes out, again, to all of you guys who reviewed, added this story to their alerts/favourites, or just read last week's chapter. I hope this chapter will be just as enjoyable. I'm quite excited for this one - very dramatic. Time to catch up with Arthur again, in the lovely world of dreams. **

**I don't own Merlin. Which is a shame, 'cos, you know, _Bradley James and Colin Morgan._**

* * *

_**4**_

Chaos.

Arthur had lived in Camelot all his life, and as a result of that he knew what was considered normal in the kingdom, and, in turn, the signs that chaos was ensuing. The scene in front of him definitely classified as the latter.

People were running around the courtyard of the citadel in clusters of panic, and voices were mashing together clumsily, echoes of screams and yells and protests and terror. Arthur, knowing that he had to do something to help, first took a few moments to get his barings together and then tried to gather what was going on. Was Camelot under attack? He wasn't really sure. Were there any creatures lurking around, ready to attack? No. Was any part of the citadel damaged? He looked around. It didn't seem to be…

He kept looking though, the screams much louder now, filling his ears and urging him, almost like a spell, to join in with the mania.

A _spell!_ This was Arthur's next lead. Were there any sorcerers around? Arthur twirled in a full circle, but he could see no sign of evil spirits or mystical figures, stalking around the courtyard to exact some kind of revenge. At least, if there was one around, they weren't as obvious and outstanding as Arthur sometimes imagined them to be – he remembered that some of the most dangerous sorcerers and enchantresses he had known had been the most inconspicuous of all; Morgause and Morgana being the most obvious examples.

Arthur then started reaching for his sword, but came up short when his sheath was noted to be empty – noted not to be present, even. After blinking in confusion of how he would be out anywhere in public without his sword, he switched his attention to the matter at hand and scoured the courtyard with his eyes once again, studying it carefully, trying to make out a familiar face in the insanity that was occurring.

His eyes finally caught one face and his heart floated for a second. _Guinevere. _She was running, and running fast, but she stopped in her tracks as she caught sight of a small child sat cowering on the main staircase; alone, scared. Her face, which was at first one of fear, softened in compassion and Arthur felt pride swell through his heart as Guinevere, his lovely Guinevere, sprinted over to the child, who cowered behind the large statue of a knight and horse on the staircase leading into the castle. The child's face was pressed into his hands and he was shuddering violently, but Guinevere approached him and gently put a hand on his shoulder. Arthur couldn't hear her tender voice among the chaos, but he could see her soft lips moving. Arthur thought that perhaps she was soothing that child with calm words of how everything was going to be alright and promising the boy that she would help him find his mother, father, family; whoever she could. The boy's face was still contorted with fear, but he stopped shuddering, stopped cowering away, and let Guinevere take his hand and lead him in the right direction. Arthur advanced towards the exchange, dodging the groups of desperate people who almost ran into him and still wondering exactly what was going on; why Camelot was in such a shamble. He wondered if his father knew; what his father was doing to help; if his knights were helping, too.

He was getting closer to Guinevere, his steps more confident. Guinevere had not yet noticed him – she was still to busy murmuring reassuring words to the boy, and now Arthur was closer, he could hear better.

"…knights will take care of things, don't you worry." She promised softly, giving a warm smile to the child, who nodded trustingly, hugging his hands to his chest, pouting. Gwen smiled again before she seemed to notice the approaching shadow out of the corner of her eye. Slowly, her head turned and her dark eyes rested on Arthur's boots, then waist, and finally, face.

Arthur expected Guinevere to smile, hug the Prince, and explain to him everything that was happening. But, her eyes suddenly darkened in a way that Arthur could not remember seeing before. He thought back, searching through his memories to try and find an occasion when Gwen had acted this way. A faint hint of a memory rang in the back of his mind; a ring that built into a scream as Arthur recalled the disastrous days when the Great Dragon had escaped and terrorised the kingdom, raining down fire and fear into the hearts of everyone in the kingdom. He remembered the look on her face from there. He also remembered the look from when Morgana had betrayed them, or from those few terrible times when she had seen someone close to her on their deathbed. He did recall the expression on his love's face. It was a fear, a deep fear and an anger.

It was also a determination. One of the many things Arthur loved about Guinevere was that she was no ordinary fearful maiden, no damsel in distress. While she got scared – who didn't? Since meeting Merlin and falling for Guinevere, Arthur had realised that even _he_ had his fears – she wouldn't let them render her useless and pitiful. She would stand up against the injustice or horrors that she faced, and she would readily fight for what she believed was right. She would look a problem in the eye with this exact look of admitted fright, yet an undying purpose.

A look Arthur was on the receiving end of at this very moment.

Snapping back into reality, Guinevere pushed the boy forward a little, telling him to follow the crowd and that she would catch up with him very soon. The boy, clearly also fearing the man towering above him, backed away a few steps, his wide eyes not leaving Arthur, before he turned on his heels and sprinted as rapidly as he could. He tripped a couple of times but he never once gazed back, never once slowed in pace. He ran and ran until he was out of sight among the people streaming out of the courtyard, also running.

But running from what?

Arthur feared he was soon to find out.

Desperate, Arthur went to reach for Guinevere's wrist. He realised that had been a mistake as she yelled out and tugged herself from his grip, her wide eyes wild. Arthur's mouth opened slightly in shock. Guinevere stared at him for a long, hard few moments, but neither could speak, neither dared to.

After finding his voice again, Arthur was the one to break the silence, "Guinevere…" He muttered, "What's going on?"

He made a wrong move again and took a step too close to Guinevere, who backed up, almost in a move of self defence. Arthur realised that being gentle (or gentle for _him_) was getting him nowhere. He reached for Guinevere's wrists – both of them – and clenched them tightly, not realised that his soft expression faded with the action. Guinevere screamed again.

"Get off of me!" She demanded, struggling, but Arthur was stronger and his grip was sturdy. He wasn't letting go.

"Guinevere!" He yelled over her screaming, trying to calm his love, "Guinevere! _Gwen!"_

"Just let me _go!"_ Guinevere struggled, not letting herself look Arthur in the eyes, almost like she was afraid of falling for whatever game she believed him to be playing. Arthur, tired of fighting, tightened his grip even more, to which Guinevere yelled out in pain. Arthur's features softened and his face went blank with guilt, before he scolded himself.

"Guinevere, what is going on?"

Guinevere's breathing was uneven, "Don't try to do this to me, Arthur!" She insisted. She was clearly in the middle of an inner battle - a battle between her love and devotion to Arthur and her hatred and anger at what he had supposedly done. "I know what happened, I know what you did!"

"_Tell me." _Arthur insisted in his own tone of gentle authority. Gwen seemed to recognise the tone in Arthur's voice and softened, stopped fighting, before she gasped in anger, seeming to mentally be reprimanding herself, before she fought again. The burning anger was winning the war.

"Let me go!"

"Guinevere, I-,"

"Gwen!"

The different, familiar voice weakened Arthur further, allowing Guinevere to take her shot at an escape. She violently tugged herself away from Arthur's grip, and ran down the steps, towards a large huddle of red clothing. Arthur turned and watched her, still shocked, and even more so when Guinevere ran straight into the hands of Lancelot, sinking her head onto his shoulder and her body into his arms. Over all the screaming, which was now echoing in Arthur's mind like the voices were screaming _at _him, the one sound of Guinevere's uneven sobs rang above everything else. It made Arthur feel so hollow, because _he _had been the one to make Guinevere _cry. _Guinevere hardly ever cried – again, Arthur could only pinpoint enough times to count on one hand – and to know that he had been the one to cause his love distress was just another knife to his chest.

Arthur then took in the faces of his knights – for they were all there. His most trustworthy, loyal knights – the Knights who had aided him in the battle against Morgana – were at the front, and his heart once again pounded as he noticed the faces of each of the men he had fought with, who would happily die for him. Their faces were a mixture of expressions – some remained emotionless, while others looked pained, angry. Gwaine and Lancelot, especially, glared at Arthur as if he was the traitor in their midst.

The_ traitor?_ Arthur swallowed hard. Surely not...

The silent exchange didn't last long, though it felt an eternity for Arthur. Sir Leon stepped forward, his face a stoic picture, though even he was clearly in disbelief at whatever was going on.

"Sir Leon, what is happening?" Arthur asked, irritated and puzzled as his voice came out less powerful than he had hoped, and more frantic than planned. Leon looked up at him darkly.

"I'm sorry, Arthur." He said, his words not matching his indifferent tone. Arthur was puzzled as he referred to him with his name and not his usual '_Sire_'. "But you are under arrest for treason."

Arthur was still, yet everything seemed to move around him. Two guards appeared out of nowhere, firmly hooking his hands behind his back. As if he was planning to move anywhere anyway. The panic around him seemed to calm – if only just – almost as if the people knew that Arthur was the enemy, and knew that they were safer now he was captured. Those that were left in the courtyard seemed to form a circle around the knights, Guinevere, and Arthur, watching with wide, anxious eyes. Waiting.

Waiting for the enemy to make his move.

Arthur, being the trained warrior he was, had been readied for this all his life. Well, not this particular moment, per se, but he had been trained to remain emotionless and indifferent in pressing situations so as to not show his vulnerability.

However, as his eyes darted across the faces of his knights, his friends, and his lover, the dam blocking his emotions seemed to crack under some sort of pressure and then explode. Arthur stumbled forward, his movements more reckless than he'd ever imagined they could be. He tried to keep his nerve, but as what he was being accused of sank in, staying calm was the last thing on his mind.

"_Treason?"_ He echoed, his tone in a state of defiance, "I am the _Prince!" _

"That didn't stop you from trying to attack the King." Lancelot objected quietly. Arthur's blue, hesitant eyes landed on Lancelot and his heart shattered. Even Lancelot, the noblest of them all; the one who had grown up dreaming of becoming a knight; who had then been granted this wish thanks to the very man stood in front of him, seemed to have turned on his Prince.

If Lancelot believed Arthur to be a traitor, there was no denying it. No-one else believed in him, either.

His lips stumbled on words that didn't even sound as his eyes continuously shifted around, still trying to find an ally in this group of friends. But he found none. Bowing his head, he succumbed to the guard's grip, even if it was only for a few seconds, and sighed.

"My father." Arthur began, "What does he say of this?"

"Your father gave us the order, Arthur." Leon explained. Clearly, as the most detached member of the group despite knowing and serving Arthur for the longest out of all the men present, he had been nominated to speak. He was, after all, the closest knight to Arthur who was a nobleman, and had been trained for moments like these, like Arthur, for much of his life.

"He wouldn't _do _that." Arthur insisted, forcing as much authority into his tone as he was able in his current confused state. He squeezed his eyes shut, with his head still bowed, waiting for the reply of Leon. But none came.

Opening his eyes in confusion, Arthur was met with wooden floorboards underneath his feet – not the cobblestones from before. His head sprung up and he lashed his head around, his heart sinking at the surrounding scene.

A crowd was gathered in a tight, thick circle around him. They were the same crowd from only a second ago, but their eyes no longer reflected fear or anxiety. Their expressions were that of a satisfied, fury-driven mob, who were watching their greatest enemy take his final plunge.

The knights. They were a few more feet away than they had been only a second ago, but they were still at the front of the crowd, all in sight. Guinevere was still beside Lancelot, and her eyes were red-rimmed, but she stood strong and firm, ready for the events to pass.

The knights displayed different mixtures of anger, sorrow, satisfaction, and indifference, each stood tall as they attempted to watch this event like any other in the history of Camelot – with detachment and with pride. To Arthur's dismay, many of them were finding this task remarkably simple.

The two guards were still stood behind Arthur, holding him in place. But behind them, Arthur saw something that sent his heart into frenzy. A tall pole towered above him, blocking out the morning's sunlight. A rope hung from this stand in a hoop. At his feet, Arthur felt the floor creak as he was forced to his knees. He looked down at the floorboards – it was a trapdoor.

It was an execution. _Arthur's _execution.

"People of Camelot,"

Arthur swallowed at the sound of the familiar cold voice. His head followed the direction of the sound, and he saw his father atop of the balcony that he always delivered his speeches on during executions. Arthur would know – he'd attended enough of them.

He'd just never attended one like this.

Uther's impassiveness to the situation was heartbreaking for the Prince. His father was speaking to the people of his kingdom; speaking to them about his own son's upcoming execution. Arthur could do nothing but listen with horror, and wonder. Wonder at exactly what he'd done to cause even his father, who loved him unconditionally, to turn against him. Even his own father was emotionless at the execution of his only son. A tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered one dangerous word menacingly, but Arthur would not let the voice come forward.

"Let this be a lesson to all man," Uther declared, his eyes scanning across the courtyard coldly, before landing on his son below him. Arthur could not see his father's eyes very well, but he knew him well enough to know of the cold, furious look that was being sent his way at that very moment. Uther's face (or what Arthur could make out of it) showed no sign of being upset, no sign of remorse or guilt for what he was about to do. He stared at Arthur the same way he stared at any criminal – as if that was all he saw his son as now; a criminal. A traitor.

"No-one is safe from the evils of this world. No-one is safe from manipulation." He took a pause, "And yet, no-one is safe from having to pay for their crimes." His tone was suddenly filled with disgust as he cast his gaze back on Arthur and concluded with, "Not even the Prince."

Arthur's shoulders slumped at the way his father named him 'the Prince'. He wouldn't call him by his name, and he wouldn't even dare to call him his son. Arthur had betrayed him, and Uther no longer considered the boy as his son – Arthur could tell. What was left of Arthur's shattered confidence faded to dust as he realised that everyone he cared about – Guinevere, his knights, his _father _– no longer trusted him. Hated him. Even the people of Camelot, who used to look at Arthur with respect, were glaring at him with malice and repugnance.

…Maybe not everyone.

Arthur was pulled back up onto his feet aggressively, and his head jerked at the sudden movement. But that sudden movement allowed his eyes to meet with one more familiar figure. A mixture of red and blue and brown, a face that looked on the execution scene with a more varied emotion than any man present in the courtyard, bar Arthur himself.

Merlin pushed himself closer into the crowd, past a few men who were stood, still as statues; almost as if their souls were no longer present. Arthur felt his body droop just at the sight of Merlin, but his heart fluttered. Merlin gazed at his Master, and Arthur watched his servant, expecting him to immediately understand what was going on and then match his own expression with everyone else's - one of animosity and hostility.

But Arthur knew Merlin, maybe better than he knew most men, and Merlin was not that kind of person. Merlin was a compassionate and calm soul, and Merlin's loyalty to Arthur was higher than that of any knight. In spite of of his inability to hold a weapon and truly fight, Arthur knew that Merlin would be the first in line to die for the Prince – something he had proved on so many occasions that Arthur had lost count. And, despite the hatred the rest of the crowd felt for their Prince at that moment, Merlin did not let his loyalties to his Master falter. As Arthur was shoved towards the rope and gazed hysterically at his manservant for assistance, Merlin gave Arthur a different look to everyone else – a look of trust, of reassurance, of kindness and compassion, a look which gave Arthur hope, determination. Maybe even a little too much for it to be healthy.

There was just something about Merlin. Some kind of connection to the figure in front of him. Arthur couldn't really place it, but what he could say for certain was that it was the reason for his next outburst.

"_MERLIN!" _He bellowed frantically, struggling against the guards grip. He understood that he was causing a scene; he'd always vowed that, should someone sentence him to death, he would hold his calm until the very end. But now, he didn't really care. He didn't understand what was going on, what was happening. He couldn't let it end now. He needed a way out, and Merlin was currently his only solution. He didn't know what it was, but something inside of him told him that it was _Merlin _he needed, _Merlin's _counsel he required, and _Merlin _who would save him from this mess.

No-one seemed to react to Arthur's outburst, apart from the guards in their efforts to hold him tighter, and Merlin. Merlin's expression was pained, and then, for just a moment, straight – like he was no longer inside his body – before he came back to life, only to look more distressed than before. He closed his eyes tightly, like he was blinking back tears, until he opened them again and mouthed, "_I'm sorry," _to the Prince.

Arthur's reaction was just to struggle harder, reacting uncharacteristically desperately, "No!" He cried. Merlin stepped back once, twice. "_NO!" _Arthur yelled.

But Merlin was gone.

Arthur couldn't take his eyes from the spot Merlin had been for a good few seconds, before another aggressive tug from the guards brought his gaze up to his father, who nodded at the guards – an order.

Arthur was into his final few seconds.

"No! _Father!_" Arthur yelled, now trying to reach out for his detached father, who stood tall, no longer looking at his son. "Father, please! Please, just tell me what I did! I demand to know!"

A voice chuckled in his head. It was familiar. "_Arrogant and ignorant until the very end." _

_The sorcerer. _Arthur growled, "Get out of my head!" He shouted; an action which probably served to make him seem more like a madman than the people already assumed him to be. He was no longer to die as a valiant hero, like he had expected to all of his life; rather an insane traitor.

"_You still think of us with disgust?" _The voice cackled. The way it said 'us' frightened Arthur – it was like he was referring to himself _and_ Arthur as one and the same. "_Arthur Pendragon, you certainly have much to learn. Emrys has a long road ahead of him if he is to teach you."_

_Emrys? _Arthur did not recognise the name; nor did he care. Not as he neared the rope – time seemed to go in slow-motion, but it was still coming to an end too quickly.

"_Emrys is your destiny, as you are his." _The voice explained, obviously having noticed Arthur's puzzlement, "_A man destined to be at your side. To teach you and to learn from you. To guide and to comfort."_

"Stop this!" Arthur demanded aloud. The rope was only a foot or two away. Arthur was atop of the trapdoor. He closed his eyes, no longer able to watch. "Just tell me what is happening to me!" He tripped over his words as he did with his feet, no longer trying to force back tears as he had so much since he was a child, "_Tell me." _

The voice sounded almost smug, but not in a way that made him seem like an enemy. "_I think you should see for yourself."_ The voice told him.

Arthur opened his eyes, for some instinctual reason overpowered him. He expected to see the rope and so was baffled to see that it had changed. The object in front of him was no longer a rope – rather, a circular hand mirror hanging just at his eye-level, exactly where the rope had been. The same instinct led him closer and closer to the mirror, and he reached out to see why he was being led this way, what he was to see.

The last words he heard were "_Do not fear," _before he got a glimpse of his own face. Blonde hair, blue eyes… he saw no change. He blinked, and he almost missed it.

But _almost_ was not good enough. He caught something very distinct in the reflection, which he couldn't miss even if he tried.

His irises.

He had to do a double-take, but he was not mistaken, as he'd hoped. Just for a second, his eyes were a flaming, intense gold, before innocently turning back to the cool sea blue he was used to.

The sound of screams came first, and then his father's voice suddenly flooded his mind, and he knew this was not a sorcerer's trick but his own mind playing games.

"Arthur Pendragon, I hereby sentence you to death-,"

Arthur closed his eyes, shaking his head violently, trying to defy what he'd seen. His breaths were harsh and his head was spinning, and as he dared to open his eyes again he noticed that this time, they _were _gold. Fully gold. And this time the gold did not disappear.

"-for the use of magic and enchantments. For the use of _sorcery."_

And now the voices were chanting in his head. The voices which had been screaming in fear and terror were now condemning Arthur like some kind of insult. Sorcerer_. Sorcerer. SORCERER._

Arthur's scream echoed around the courtyard.

Arthur's scream continued to around his room. A yell of terror reverberated around the Prince's chambers, making the air shudder. Arthur could hear a buzz in his ears; a buzz that flowed with an unexplainable power that he had never felt before. Arthur jerked up in his bed, taking in a sharp gasp to catch his breath and then allow his screams to continue.

But his actions caused something else entirely. In that brief second where he inhaled, the buzzing in Arthur's ear, which had been building in volume like the battle cries of an approaching enemy, screeched to a halt. The room around Arthur, in response, seemed just about ready to topple over, to combust.

Apparently unable to take the strain, Arthur's mirror shattered noisily, the shards of glass scattering across the floor dangerously.

At the event, Arthur's eyes widened. He leapt out of bed and ran to check the damages. He yelled out in pain as he, in his frantic efforts, stood on a shard of glass.

A knock at the door. A guard's voice came from the other side. "Sire?" The guard asked, "Is everything alright?"

Arthur took a few deep breaths before replying, "I'm fine." He said, though his attempt at calming himself had been pitiful and his tone in speech was breathless. The guard probably hadn't even heard him.

"Sire?" The voice continued.

"I'm fine!" Arthur responded, louder, though his words shuddered in slight fear. Arthur hoped the guard wouldn't notice.

He looked down at the smashed glass, carefully picking up one of the precarious pieces of glass so he could see his reflection.

His hair was matted, his mouth was curled into a defeated, exhausted frown. The Prince looked worn out, afraid, and his eyes were wild. Blue – no longer golden – but wild.

Curious, the Prince recalled a faint memory of the incident all those nights ago, before his nightmares had begun; where his door had shut on its own accord and Arthur had assumed it had been due to some freak gust of wind through his chambers. He now, with his thoughts circling uncontrollably, wondered… had it really?

Swallowing hard, outstretching his hand like he'd seen many a sorcerer do before, he willed the door to open, closing his eyes for a few seconds before opening them to check the shard of glass he was holding for his reflection.

Only one thing changed. His eyes glowed. And in response, the door slowly and quietly squeaked open.

Arthur dropped the glass in shock, allowing it to shatter into even smaller pieces - some of which flew into his foot. He didn't want to, but he let out a yell in pain as the pieces pricked his skin.

_"AGH!"_

"Sire?" The guard was desperate now. Arthur hobbled over to the door, as quickly as he could with his now-bleeding foot, and glanced around the door that he had willed open. He somehow found his sense of authority amongst all the chaos inside his brain and commanded the guard.

"There's been an accident. Go find the Court Physician, and tell him to come as quickly as possible."

The guard bowed to the Prince, "Yes, Sire," and walked off.

Arthur turned to the other guard, "You must leave, too." He insisted. The guard was unsure.

"I've been instructed to not leave this post until my shift is over, Sire."

"And now _I'm_ instructing you," Arthur argued, "_leave_."

The guard, hesitant, nodded his head, not wanting to argue with the Prince, and went down the corridor the opposite way to the first guard.

Arthur shut the door (naturally, this time, not by the invisible force) and hobbled back to his bed, debating whether or not to pick the glass out of his foot.

But now a voice seemed to call at him from right at the back of his mind.

"_Sorcerer_." It whispered, matter-of-factly, accusingly. Arthur knew it wasn't the sorcerer from his dreams as he didn't feel his presence any longer in his mind. No, this was due to his own mind, his own voice; it was mocking him, appalled. He had acted so childishly when he had first discovered the man in his dreams to be of magic, and so his brain seemed to be retaliating for his own foolishness and small-mindedness. He had been so arrogant, so petty. Arthur willed his eyes closed, to stop any potential onslaught of tears.

"No," he muttered, though he didn't know how long he could keep up the denial. "No, no…"

But then, a soft voice replied. Softer than the previous; kinder.

"Do not be afraid, Arthur." The voice said. "Everything will be okay. I promise you."

And so Arthur relaxed, taking slow, deep breaths to calm himself, because he trusted the voice, for it belonged to _Merlin_.

He trusted Merlin's voice. He trusted _Merlin_. He trusted Merlin as a man who never broke a promise, who was always there for his friends, whose council and words he held higher than most other men. He remembered Merlin to be the only one who, when everything was crumbling around Arthur, had dared to show him some kind of compassion, care. Arthur knew that this had only been a dream, but he also worried if, should push come to shove, the fact would still stand.

Just for now, Arthur was at peace with his thoughts. In his calm state he let his thoughts spiral. One seemed to echo over all others;

_"Sorcerer."_

And yet, it was no longer the harsh voice from his dreams, but the soft voice of Merlin.

The voice that assured him that everything would be alright.

* * *

**A/N: And there's another chapter over with :) I can tell you now that, from where I'm standing, this story will probably have seven chapters, and an epilogue. I've just kind of gone crazy with it, adding Arwen/Merthur moments and random conversations wherever I could, so it's gonna be way longer than originally planned (note that, when this idea first came to mind, I planned for it to only be a one-shot :P)**

**I'll see you next week, guys! I'd appreciate if you reviewed :D**

**~Amy x**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Longest chapter yet coming your way! Which explains why I've updated on a Sunday rather than a Saturday - proofreading has taken ages -_-**

**Thanks again for the reviews and everything :D I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Just to not cause confusion; we are back in Merlin's POV here, and at the start he is still in Arthur's dream :)**

**I don't own Merlin.**

* * *

_**5**_

Merlin's inability to comprehend what was happening to Arthur was topped only by his revulsion for the sorcerer that was doing this to the Prince. Merlin never understood why sorcerers would target Arthur in this way. Wherever he went, Merlin often found himself recognised by the Druids or by sorcerers as 'Emrys'. Any who knew him by that name surely also knew of the future he was to build with Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King, right? Did they not understand that, if they just let it be, one day Arthur would be King and Merlin would be by his side as his most trusted magical advisor? Did they not understand that, so long as Arthur lived and Merlin stayed by his side, one day magic users would be free to no longer stay in hiding?

But then, there were sorcerers who probably craved some kind of revenge. Uther had slaughtered so many, and Merlin supposed that hatred flooded the ones who were left behind. Vengeance filled their hearts and souls and minds, and they trained, trained until they were ready to take down the Pendragon dynasty for all its crimes. People like that would, most likely, not care of the future; only care for the past, and righting all the wrong that had been done in their eyes.

Maybe not everyone agreed with the idea of Arthur's eventual reign, either. Maybe sorcerers saw Arthur to be just like his father; a tyrant, a hateful man who would murder innocents for what happened years into the past. Merlin knew this not to be true – he'd seen proof on many occasions – and just wished everyone else could see in Arthur what he saw in him; a brave, strong man who would put the life of any other man before himself and who would grow into a merciful King that the people would adore. Arthur, despite his self-loving attitude and his arrogance, was definitely not a tyrant.

As he watched the scene in front of him – Arthur dreaming of his own execution – he heard a voice call to him in his head. "_Emrys,_" It called, a harsh whispering voice, "_Emrys_."

"_Yes?" _He replied, his eyes leaving Arthur for a second. He located the voice and found that it was inside Arthur's head, just like he was.

"_I must speak with you, Emrys."_

Merlin would've frowned, had he been talking to the man's face, "_Are you the one who is doing this to Arthur?"_

"_I am the sorcerer from Arthur's dreams, yes." _The voice admitted, "_But I am not responsible for this dream. These happenings are of Arthur's creation."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_You must come to me, Emrys." _The voice said, "_Leave the Prince and come to me."_

Merlin watched the despair on Arthur's face as he was led closer and closer to his doom, the silent yet effective plea for help, and couldn't bring his feet to move. "_But-,"_

"_You will see your future King again soon enough, but first, I must speak with you." _The voice assured him gently. Merlin swallowed, looking back at Arthur with an apology in his eyes. Arthur seemed to understand, for he just fought more violently.

_I'm sorry, _Merlin mouthed to his Prince, who began struggling intensely.

"No!" Arthur yelled, repeating the defiance harshly as Merlin stepped away. It took all of Merlin's self-will to fight against the instinct which told him to protect his Once and Future King, stepping back once, twice; further and further back until he was out of the crowd.

The courtyard disappeared before his very eyes. Merlin looked around and found himself in a clearing. The clearing he usually spoke to Kilgharrah in.

"Emrys,"

A voice behind him alerted Merlin that he was not alone. He rotated around to see a cloaked figure only about ten feet away. Merlin counted to three before taking a few steps towards the figure, summoning all of his Emrys-instincts that gave him some kind of power above most sorcerers.

"Who are you?" He asked the figure, surprised by the authority that came out in his tone. He'd spent too long around Arthur, he concluded.

"My name is Algar," The figure replied, respect highlighting his croaking voice. "I am honoured to meet you, Emrys."

Though flattered at the man's supposed respect for him, Merlin wouldn't let himself be distracted from what this man had done. He tried to imagine he was in Arthur's position; seeing to a bandit who had complimented him on his swordplay. "What are you doing to Arthur?" He demanded.

"I have done nothing to the Prince," Algar insisted, "I am only here to watch over these events."

"What events?"

Algar sighed, "There are many prophecies about you, Emrys." He explained, "As there are for Arthur. Your destiny together is to unite Albion as two sides of a coin."

"I've been told." Merlin commented, remembering the great destiny Kilgharrah never failed to remind him of with a roll of his eyes.

"But you are destined to be the magical side of this coin." Algar continued, "Not Arthur."

Merlin raised an eyebrow, "So what are you saying?"

"There were few prophets who spoke of Arthur's magic." Algar began, "A child, born of magic, ironically grows to hate and fear it, to fight it. His path is far from magical; you are supposed to be the magic in his life. Only a few ever believed that the true nature of his birth would lead to this – that the sorceress Nimueh's magic would leave a mark on the Prince in this way."

Merlin had to think for a few seconds and reconsider the words just to make sure he was hearing Algar right. "Are you saying…" His shook his head in disbelief, "Arthur's a sorcerer?"

Algar bowed his head a little, "That is for you to find out yourself, Emrys." He said, "The part I have to play in Arthur's destiny is over. However, your part is just beginning."

Merlin frowned at the cryptic message that was so similar to the ones Kilgharrah would deliver, and before he could voice his confusion, the surroundings began to distort, fade. Merlin gasped. The spell was wearing off.

"Remember, Emrys," Algar spoke – his voice was fading, but Merlin could hear it echo in his ears, "You must teach Arthur, if he is ever to learn."

"Teach him _what?"_

"That is for you to decide." Merlin could hear the assured smile in Algar's tone, "Farewell, Emrys."

Merlin opened his eyes. He was on his bed, cross-legged.

The events of Arthur's dream came flooding back to Merlin; the execution, Arthur's pleading eyes, Algar's message. He rocketed up to his feet and strode towards the door. He passed his sleeping mentor as quietly as he could, with one thought circling his mind.

He needed to talk to Kilgharrah.

* * *

"Young warlock. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Kilgharrah landed with a mighty thud in the clearing Merlin had been in only a few minutes ago – or, an illusion of it, from Arthur's mind. The Great Dragon smiled down at the Dragon Lord, but Merlin did not return the smile. His expression was straight, and his thoughts were jumbled up in his brain and he couldn't really comprehend his own purpose for being there.

Grabbing hold of the major thought in his mind, he voiced it to Kilgharrah. "Why didn't you tell me about the prophecy of Arthur having magic?"

Kilgharrah's large head stooped so that it was level with Merlin. "The prophecy was never one I truly believed." He admitted.

"But now it has come true." Merlin said.

"It would appear so." Kilgharrah agreed. The warlock ran his hand through his hair in irritation.

None of this made sense. None of it matched what he had always perceived as his future with Arthur. He had always been, as Algar had said, the magical side of the coin. What would happen now? Not that Merlin jealous of his Prince's magic – that Arthur would become both sides of their, until then, shared coin – but he was worried for the Prince's safety. What would Uther do if he found out? What would Arthur say, what would he think of himself? All his life, Arthur had been taught to fight magic like it was evil itself – heck, he _believed _that magic was evil itself. Magic had, in Arthur's eyes, corrupted Morgana, threatened the lives of people he loved, almost turned Arthur himself against his own father and nearly caused the downfall of the Kingdom time and time again… what was Arthur to think if, and when, he found out he had magic? Would he deny it, ignore it? Would he think of himself as a monster? Merlin couldn't allow Arthur to be driven insane, to believe himself to be evil – maybe he would be driven so far off the edge of sanity that he'd actually _become _evil; maybe he would even end up trying to kill Uther. He had almost done it once already before, after all, and that was _before _he had magical powers.

"And if it is so, you cannot allow it to corrupt him." Kilgharrah told Merlin, as if he could hear Merlin's inner thoughts. The warlock looked up at him, confused.

"Magic doesn't corrupt." Merlin said, "Not always – look at me."

"That is true, young warlock," Kilgharrah nodded, "but Arthur does not know that. Arthur has grown with this belief his whole life; he is convinced that magic is an evil force that cannot be trusted. You must show him that this is not the case – if Arthur turns against his father, or banishes himself in fear of doing so, your destiny cannot be fulfilled." Kilgharrah said solemnly. "The dream you hold for Albion is certain to fall."

Merlin nodded his head in agreement. "Thank you, Kilgharrah."

"I am only aiding you in the success of your destiny." The dragon took a step back, bowing his head once more to the young Dragon Lord, "I trust that you know what to do."

Then Kilgharrah's wings burst open, and he crouched before launching into the air, his great wings thrusting him gracefully through the sky. Merlin watched until the dragon was only a dot in the sky, and he turned back, running straight back to the citadel.

Back to Arthur.

* * *

Merlin was kind of shocked to see a guard turn into the corridor towards Gaius's chambers. He followed the guard, called after him. The guard turned, recognised Merlin, and stopped.

"What's going on?" Merlin asked. The guard proceeded to tell Merlin of the situation, clearly trusting the Prince's manservant.

"Prince Arthur wishes to see the Court Physician."

Merlin gulped. Arthur must've woken up. What if he'd discovered his powers? Merlin grabbed the opportunity to speak to him with both hands and held on tight – best get started with proving to Arthur that magic wasn't all bad straight away, before he could get too caught up in it all.

"I just came from Gaius' chambers," He told the guard, "He's fast asleep; you won't get anything out of him. I could go and see to Arthur." The guard blinked in disbelief.

"The Prince requires a physician…" The guard said, clearly trying not to offend the manservant. Merlin shrugged.

"I've picked up a lot from Gaius over the years." Merlin objected happily, offering his typical Merlin-smile. The guard seemed reluctant, but he didn't seem willing to argue, and let Merlin go, following him all the way to Arthur's room.

* * *

"_Merlin?"_

The Prince shot up onto his feet as his manservant bounced into his chambers, smiling friendlily. It was a bright, healthy change to the apologetic, heartbroken look Arthur had last seen on the boy's face – both in reality and in his mind – and so Arthur tried to remind himself of that as he selected the correct words to reprimand the manservant.

However, he didn't get the chance. The glass that was still pressed into his foot dug further in as he foolishly tried to get up from his seat on the bed, and the Prince collapsed back onto the bed, cringing. Merlin ran across the room to Arthur's side, sitting on the bed next to him.

"Arthur, what…?" Merlin stopped himself from speaking as he spots the broken mirror out of the corner of his eye. He looked down at the Prince's foot and winced.

"Where's Gaius?" Arthur asked, ignoring his pain.

"Asleep." Merlin explained, "But I'm here."

Arthur's eyebrow rose in bewilderment, "Merlin, _you _think you can take care of my foot?" Merlin nodded innocently. "_How?_ Are you going to talk the glass to boredom so that it falls out of my foot and runs away? Or are you going to step in the glass yourself, just for empathy's sake?" Arthur was joking, but something gnawed at the back of his mind that said that he knew Merlin would walk through miles of glass just to keep the Prince safe.

Arthur could see Merlin struggling over his wording and he didn't know why. Merlin sighed and replied, "I'm not here about your foot." There was something in Merlin's tone – solemn and low – which made Arthur shudder. He turned to see the guard he had sent away to get Gaius stood in the door and dismissed him. He then faced his servant.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked, his volume low and his tone almost dark. Merlin gulped, dropping his eyes to his lap. Clearly, after their argument hours ago, Merlin was unsure of exactly how to speak to his Master. It frustrated Arthur. Most of the time, Merlin didn't know when to shut up.

"Your dreams." Merlin finally said. Arthur's eyes narrowed. Merlin, obviously seeing this, cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his tone was confident again. "Arthur-,"

"What did I tell you about them?" Arthur cut him off, his tone unfriendly, and he turned away from his manservant.

Like any other time, Merlin was unyielding. At least he was back to his persistent self. His moment of silence and difficulty in speaking seemed to be over. "You told me to not talk about them, yes; but let's be honest Arthur; when do I really listen to you?"

Arthur couldn't help chuckling, "Seems to be a very crucial part of this relationship," He admitted with a slight smile, "Neither of us listening to each other."

Merlin smiled lightly, "It would seem that way, wouldn't it?"

Arthur shrugged, staring at his foot, which was now resting on a pillow Merlin had placed on the floor for him. "So I suppose you're not going to leave here until I tell you what's wrong."

Merlin grinned, "You know me too well, Sire."

Arthur couldn't help but smile at Merlin's comic nature, which he seemed to display in even the direst situations. "Well, you'd best make yourself useful while I tell you." The Prince decided, "Do you think you can use whatever ounce of talent that may be residing somewhere in your core to treat my foot?"

Merlin smiled. "I can surely try, Sire."

* * *

Arthur had decided, with a smile, that Merlin really was more talented than he gave the boy credit for. Not that he'd ever tell him, that is. He'd clearly picked up a lot from Gaius over the years – he'd known what to do to treat Arthur's injury from the word go. He had speedily gone to get cold water to wash the foot (he'd said that this would do the both of them the world of good as Arthur's foot would be cleaned and wouldn't stink so bad. Arthur had replied with a very non-clever retort about Merlin's hygiene hardly being as good as that of his own) and Merlin was now, carefully, trying to remove the largest splint from the foot.

"So, you were going to tell me about your dreams?" Merlin brought up the point as he examined the glass sticking out of Arthur's foot studiously.

Arthur sighed, "Ah, yes. I hoped you'd forget."

"You promised you'd tell me." Merlin said.

"I didn't promise, exactly." Arthur retorted, but he knew it wasn't fair to be difficult when Merlin was being such a good friend and so he dropped the point hastily. Merlin's expectant, large eyes were enough to convince the Prince to finally answer his question. He could trust Merlin, he knew he could. His presence was calm, familiar (but in a way that Arthur didn't recognise from the past), and his eyes encouraged confidence without demanding it. Yes, Arthur could trust Merlin – even with a secret as earth-moving as this.

"My dreams…" The Prince began. "Well, I've been having nightmares, as you already know. Four nights, so far."

Merlin nodded, but did not reply, and so Arthur took that as a sign to continue.

"There was… a sorcerer in the first three. At first he would not show his face; I could just… feel him there." Arthur groaned as he realised how odd the words sounded outside his head; odder than they had inside of his head, that was for sure.

But when he snuck a glance at Merlin, he noticed that he was still sat stationary, with a thoughtful, considerate look on his face. Almost… understanding.

Arthur cleared his throat. He didn't like having long heart-to-heart chats, especially not with his _manservant _of all people. But he knew that this was something he had to do; confess. He had to get it out of his system, share the story with someone so that he was not alone, and, well, who better than Merlin, who was Arthur's number one confider alongside Guinevere?

"Amongst other things…" Arthur thought, cringing at the memory of the sorcerer insulting Arthur's talents and calling him 'ignorant'. "…he reminded me of…" He swallowed. This was a point he had discarded upon waking up from this dream, "…of Morgana's magic. Of her nightmares. He reminded me of how she was plagued by them and, in the years following, she fell to magic; she betrayed us."

Arthur's voice began to fail him towards the end of the sentence and his eyes fell into his lap. This was the first time he'd really pieced Morgana's betrayal together with his own nightmares – first time without any denial, that is – and as he did he realised just how much trouble he was in.

He turned to Merlin once again, whose gaze was still soft and understanding, calculating and curious. Either he hadn't yet pieced together what Arthur was saying, or did not understand the intensity of it. Maybe he did understand, but just didn't care. Maybe the news didn't phase Merlin, and that just proved what he had dreamt - that Merlin would stick by Arthur's side unconditionally.

"I've been trying to deny it, ignore it. But ignoring a problem doesn't make it go away; I know that. My dream tonight, well, it confirmed my worries."

Taking a deep breath, Arthur spoke his greatest fear aloud for the first time.

"Merlin… I think I have magic."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arthur had been busily working away over the last few minutes to consider what a person's reaction would be once he told them of what he had silently been fearing for these few days. He had planned out people's responses and then planned out exactly what he would do or say in return to these responses.

In Guinevere's case she would give him a rational argument as to why this wasn't so, and Arthur would try to remain calm and convince her otherwise; cautiously, so to not upset her.

As for his father, Uther would either give some sort of amused chuckle in rejection at Arthur's words, or some kind of dark fury would be directed at him for even daring to suggest that he was a sorcerer; the monsters that the King had hunted for over twenty years. Arthur was unsure of how he would've reacted to that - he found it difficult at the best of times to speak to his father.

Merlin's reaction was easier to predict; it was most likely a laugh, and an insult thrown ever so casually in the Prince's direction, to which Arthur would've rolled his eyes before he tried to convince his servant that he was telling the truth. Arthur probably could've stood right in front of Merlin and, should he have known one, performed some extravagant spell, and Merlin's only reaction would've been a derisive snort in amusement and a muttered, "clot pole" or "dollop head."

That was what Arthur _expected_, of course, but another thing Arthur knew about Merlin was that he was full of surprises. The manservant, who was usually clumsier and more foolish than any man Arthur knew, was no longer treating the foot and was instead gazing at Arthur with thought – no, with an understanding beyond thought.

Considering Merlin's usual idiotic behaviour, which was displayed on a regular basic, Arthur often forgot the moments when Merlin was, really, quite wise; wiser than most men Arthur knew. Perhaps Merlin was not going to be oblivious or disagreeing in this conversation, like Arthur had assumed; was not going to deny the Prince's beliefs or claims – perhaps Merlin would listen intently to Arthur's dreams and problems and fears, and would believe Arthur; that is, should Arthur give him reason to. When Arthur stopped to think about it, he recalled Merlin's uncanny ability of being able to see straight through people – traitors, sorcerers; he'd even known of Arthur's feelings for Guinevere before the Prince had even dared risking his pride to admit it. How was Merlin, the idiot, such an excellent judge of character? Was it just pure luck? Did he just have an eye for certain people, certain emotions?

Arthur shuffled under Merlin's gaze (something he never would've done before), but quickly Merlin's eyes dropped. The silence continued for seconds, and Arthur didn't dare to break it as he tried to decipher that look in Merlin's eyes – what was it? Regret? Betrayal? Sadness? Disappointment – in either Arthur or in _himself_? Merlin was a riddle indeed – so much so that Arthur couldn't even place the emotion that was so heavy in Merlin's eye. A tiny flicker of a thought suggested something which normally Arthur wouldn't have suspected in a million years – _understanding?_ – but it then dove into the back of Arthur's mind where it was forgotten.

Finally, the silence was broken. "Prove it." Merlin muttered. Arthur blinked.

"What?"

"You said you have magic." Merlin said, lifting his head and facing Arthur, challenge flickering in his voice. It was forced, like Merlin was trying to desperately cling on to any banter the two of them had shared before. "Show me."

"Er," Arthur paused, looking around the room as if inspiration would fly out of nowhere. It struck him as Merlin went to gingerly work on his foot again.

"The mirror."

"What?"

"When I woke up, I…" Arthur stopped himself in light of one of their most recent banter battles, "I… might have screamed." Merlin gave a smile in memory of their conversation the other day, and Arthur returned a fake glare. "Shut up, Merlin."

"I didn't say anything." The manservant objected, before adding, "What does your manly girl's scream have to do with the mirror?"

Arthur forgot about the mirror, for a second, losing himself in their brotherly teasing, "I don't have a girl's scream."

"Whatever you say, princess."

"_Don't_ call me that." Arthur said sternly, hiding a cringe, "You're worse than Gwaine."

"Hey, I try!" Merlin chuckled, but there was something dark in his eye, somewhat like a shadow, in light of the true nature of their conversation, and so Arthur continued with his story.

"While I screamed… I felt something." Arthur paused, unable to piece together exactly what he had felt after waking up from this latest nightmare. "I don't know how to describe it. It was like… a buzzing in my ears. A presence of some sorts – I hadn't felt it before in my life." Arthur looked to Merlin to check he was still with him, but Merlin clearly needed no aid in keeping up with their conversation. There were only a rare few times when Arthur had seen Merlin so serious, and that's when he realised that Merlin was certainly not denying Arthur's suspicions – rather, he seemed to believe them, right down in his core. He was just waiting to see for himself that it was right.

Arthur then remembered Merlin's hesitance and suspicion when this _change _– clearly the awakening of Arthur's magic – occurred. Had Merlin known of the magic? No, of course he wouldn't have. How could a mere servant know of such a great change in Arthur when the Prince himself didn't know it?

"And then it all came to a halt." Arthur continued, not letting himself get too lost in his thoughts for now; not until Merlin knew the full story. "That's when the mirror broke." Arthur shifted his line of vision to the mirror and pointed, illustrating his story. "I also managed, somehow, to open and shut my door; I didn't need to touch it."

Merlin was suddenly intrigued. "Can I see?" Arthur looked hesitant, "The guards aren't out there; it's alright." Merlin comforted him. The Prince was still unsure.

"You have to promise that you won't tell anyone." He told his servant; first threatening, and then he sighed and said carefully, "Promise me."

Merlin's eyes reflected pain at Arthur's own pain, and he nodded quickly. "I promise." He said, and it was with so much assurance and belief that Arthur, for a moment, forgot that he was about to demonstrate a little magic to his manservant, when it was against his own father's most stringent law. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and preparing himself. He didn't know why, but some sort of outside force was pretty much demanding him that Merlin _had _to see this. Perhaps the sorcerer in his mind? But why would he care about Merlin?

Arthur sighed. He wasn't going to distract himself anymore - he just needed to finally get this out in the open. He needed to _feel _the proof that his magic was real. In his first attempt at magic – though it hadn't been of his own choice to perform – he hadn't felt anything, but when he'd broken the mirror, the energy, the power, had been buzzing excitedly surrounding him. Arthur found the buzz after a few seconds – it was loud and impossible to ignore once found – and he opened his eyes again, outstretching his hand towards the door. It creaked open, weakly; but it did it. Someone had seen his magic – seen proof.

And now there was no turning back.

Arthur didn't know what he'd expected to see on Merlin's face, but he was shocked to see the awe-inspired smile, the wide eyes, and something – was that hope? – bubbling on the inside. Arthur didn't know why he knew that – he obviously wasn't a great judge of character, after the countless betrayals that had occurred right in front of his oblivious face, and he certainly couldn't read Merlin very well. But now, Merlin's emotions, and everything else, just seemed… obvious. Was it because of the magic?

And then it all rushed to him like a galloping horse, and when Merlin finally removed his eyes from the door to glance back at Arthur, his hands were holding his heavy head, and he shook it gently. Merlin spoke, and his voice sounded apprehensive and unsure.

"Arthur…?"

"This isn't good."

"What are you…?"

"No, this isn't good at all… Merlin, what am I- _Agh!"_

In his confusion and his panic, Arthur had tried to get up and begin pacing, which only served him poorly as he aggravated it. Merlin had got the splinters out of his foot, but the wound was still not healed, not even bandaged. Merlin carefully touched Arthur's arm, comforting him with soft words as he sat back down. The Prince couldn't have cared less about his injury, though – he was more worried about the other major event of the night.

"Merlin, what am I going to do?"

Merlin apparently caught the confusion, the despair, in Arthur's tone, because his face hardened to a frown. "I don't know." He admitted.

"Exactly." Arthur scowled, before silently reprimanding himself for snapping at Merlin because it wasn't Merlin's fault. "I'm sorry." Arthur muttered.

"Arthur, it's alright-,"

"No, Merlin, it's not." Arthur replied firmly. "I'm a sorcerer. I've fought their kind all my life; fought against the evils of magic. Now _I'm _one of them! What… what would my father say?!" Arthur's voice had risen to a remarkably loud volume. Merlin attempted to hush him and placed a gentle hand on the Prince's arm, but in his moments of rage Arthur scowled and shoved it off and carried on yelling. "Since Morgana left, I'm all he has in this world; if my father were to find this out, then what? He'd have no-one!"

Merlin swallowed, clearly choosing his words wisely, "That's not true." He said, trying to put as much confidence and belief into his tone as he could muster, though it wasn't that easy.

"Yes, it is." Arthur insisted, though his volume had dropped – maybe he'd remembered the situation and the time of night and so didn't want to risk waking others. "Think about it, Merlin – we lost Morgana to the evils of magic. She received her magic and she was no longer our Morgana." Realisation struck Arthur like a lightning bolt. He felt his mouth go all too dry. "Merlin…" He said, his voice now just a mumble, "The magic turned her against us. The sorceress, Morgause… she took Morgana and taught her magic and turned her against her own father, the people she'd cared about all her life."

Merlin seemed apprehensive to reply; this was unlike Merlin, and should Arthur have been calmer he'd have slapped his servant and told him to get on with it. He seemed like he wanted to disagree with Arthur's words (why, though, Arthur did not know. He knew he spoke the truth), but at the last second he changed his tune. "So what's your point?"

Arthur didn't want to admit his fears; as if he did, he was worried they may come true. He looked up at Merlin, his blue eyes filled with a panic he had almost never shown to Merlin – shown to anyone, for that matter.

"What if I am destined for that path too?"

Merlin's eyes widened in realisation and slight horror. Merlin had finally reached the denial stage. "Arthur, no-,"

"I'm a _sorcerer_, Merlin!" Arthur bellowed, "Magic is evil, and it corrupts. It corrupted Morgana, and it will corrupt _me_."

Merlin was shaking his head quickly, his faith in his master clearly undying, "No, no, that isn't true…"

"Well, what do _you_ think, Merlin?" Arthur asked sarcastically, "After all, you know _so much_ about magic-,"

"You'd be surprised!" Merlin shot back.

Arthur's eyes narrowed, "What?" Now that Arthur thought about it, Merlin had something similar to that before - after Arthur had claimed that he couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it. Arthur was too angry to start considering this point, though, and so it was buried into the back of his mind.

For a second, Merlin seemed like he wanted to tell Arthur something that was burning away inside of him, but he shook his head. "Well… er, Gaius was a sorcerer a few years back, wasn't he? Before the purge… and he's not evil."

Arthur was not convinced. It was like he hadn't even heard Merlin as he spoke his next words. "No. No, I won't let this happen."

He got up, ignoring Merlin's protests and the pain jolting up his foot, and walked to find a bag to pack things into. Merlin jumped to his feet.

"What are you doing?" He asked apprehensively, "You're aggravating your injury."

"I'm getting out of here." Arthur declared.

"Arthur-,"

"I am a danger to my own father, Merlin!" Arthur growled, "Surely it is only a matter of time before-," he shook his head, lowering his voice to a gentle murmur. He knew in his heart that this was the best thing to do. Morgana was now a murderous witch who wanted Camelot to fall, wanted to take the throne for herself and turn Camelot's future to chaos. If Arthur was destined for the same fate… he couldn't stay in Camelot. Not anymore. He would live in solitude, away from Camelot, away from anyone who could tempt him over to the side of evil. He looked up at Merlin, his decision made. "I will not let myself kill my own father. I'll give up my claim to the throne-,"

"But-,"

"I'll leave Camelot at first light and never return."

"Arthur-,"

"That way I won't be a threat." Arthur finished, shooting a pointed glare at Merlin for interrupting. He packed a couple of shirts into the bag, while Merlin paced for a few moments. Arthur's attention was mostly on packing, but he kept glancing suspiciously up at his manservant, who seemed to be at war with himself. He looked like he wanted to say something – something big, something important. Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to hear it, but then he sighed, unable to put up with his persistent pacing any longer.

"What is it, Merlin?"

"Huh?"

With wide eyes and a dropped jaw, Merlin looked just like his normal bumbling self. But there was something behind his eyes, though; something deep, something dark… Arthur could see behind Merlin's eyes that there was something he did not know about his servant. He'd never seen it before, and so put his discovery of it down to his magic. It was, after all, making everything so clear to him. It was clear now that there was more to Merlin than Arthur had ever suspected - of course, he had once had suspicions about his funny manservant, but now, they weren't just suspicions. Thanks to his magic, they were facts. Merlin was hiding something, something that he was fighting an internal battle over at that second.

"Go on. You obviously want to say something useless, so I'm waiting for it."

Merlin looked down to his boots. He closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. His face looked strained, and Arthur wondered what was affecting the boy. He looked up again and there was determination on his face; an emotion Merlin could only be associated with in the direst of moments.

"You won't be a threat to your father."

"Oh, really?" Arthur scoffed, "I'm a trained warrior, with magic. You're telling me I'm like a delicate little flower and my father's perfectly safe around me? I'be almost killed him once before, remember? And that was _without_ the magic!"

"No, I mean you won't harm him." Merlin continued, "You won't want to – I won't _let_ you."

Arthur stared at Merlin incredulously, "Er, no offence, Merlin, but you were hardly a match for me _without_ my magic." _My magic…_ The label felt wrong.

Another glance down. A nod. With determination, Merlin rushed over to a candle on Arthur's table. He stood across the table from Arthur and held it in both his hands.

"Merlin, what are you-,"

"I'm showing you that you don't need to leave." Merlin said. There was a sense of importance in his tone that stopped Arthur from scolding Merlin for his interruption. His tone was… gravitational, other-worldly. The air around him buzzed with excitement.

"Not all magic is bad, Arthur; I know it isn't." He sent a small smile in Arthur's direction, while the Prince gazed on with confusion. "I will prove that to you. I will help you; that's a promise." Merlin was gentle in his speech, as he whispered, "It's going to be alright," and it reminded Arthur so much of the voice from his latest dream that the air – the magic, he placed – was almost singing.

Merlin closed his eyes, and muttered in a different language. He opened his eyes and they glowed – glowed a brilliant gold. That gold was then reflected on the small flame that appeared; it danced gently atop the candle wick, beautiful and awe-inspiring.

Arthur almost missed it. He was so caught up in the beauty and the wonder of the moment; but when the flame disappeared as silently as it had arrived, when the magic surrounding him died down to a quiet murmur, when he looked up to see the face of his now-cautious manservant, he realised what he had just witnessed.

_Magic_.

Merlin knew magic.

Merlin performed magic.

Merlin _had_ magic.

* * *

**A/N: Don't attack me with bricks! Sorry, but cliffhangers are so fun. And yay, reveal fic :P It was so difficult to write a reveal considering how many times people have written a reveal and done it beautifully (and, in turn, not so beautifully) but I hope that was at least a little satisfying. **

**And what about that? At least half of this monster chapter was dedicated to Merlin and Arthur! Yayyy :D And we'll have some more of that next chapter, trust me. **

**See you next weekend! I'm off of school for two weeks now, so I'm hoping to get this story finished very soon. I've almost caught up with myself though, so we will see :)**

**~Amy x**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: And here we are, at chapter 6. I have yet to complete the story - I'm still on chapter 7 - though I still think the chapter count is at 7 and an epilogue, so we're nearing the end! I am hoping to write more Merlin, though - so if you're willing to read it, I'll certainly be here to write it! I already have a one-shot planned, which should be pretty exciting :D**

**Thank you again for everyone's reactions to the last chapter - they were most appreciated! **

**Enjoy! I don't own Merlin.**

* * *

**_6_**

When running back to Camelot from the clearing where he'd met with Kilgharrah, Merlin had ran through, so many times in his head, different ways of convincing Arthur that everything was going to be all right. Just because he had magic didn't mean that he was a monster.

He didn't know exactly how to do this, but one way that kept forcing itself to the forefront of his mind was to reveal his magic to Arthur. The only problem was that he just couldn't decide whether finally coming clean about his secret would make everything better, or worse.

There were arguments for both sides, but whenever Merlin thought he'd made a decision, he would feel edgy inside, like he'd made the wrong one. On the one hand, revealing his own magic would help to show Arthur that Merlin knew how it felt; to be on the edge, to be afraid of what you were, to be in danger every second of every day for reasons that were out of your control. Just because he was different… that didn't make him a freak. Merlin knew that. His mother and Gaius had assured him, time and time again, that his powers did not make him something to be feared, and he knew, _knew, _that any prejudices he'd been faced with in his life, and any secrecies that were of utmost importance because of these prejudices, did not make him a villain. He knew in his heart that he would walk by Arthur's side for the rest of his life if he remained the good and pure man Merlin knew him to be, and that Arthur would feel the same way, because there was a mutual trust and bond and belief they shared between each other and that was all that mattered – Arthur's view on magic, taught to him by his closed-minded, judgemental father, did not matter, so long as he could one day be shown the truth.

Perhaps, that day was coming. Perhaps it was _today._ And Merlin felt it, deep in his heart; felt that Arthur would not let his prejudices falter his trust and his care in Merlin.

But that was just his irrational and foolish heart leading him in this argument and Merlin knew that _Arthur_ was never truly one to wholly follow his heart – he was a warrior; taught to think strategically, to not let emotions and love get too far in the way of his judgements. Not to mention, Arthur had seen many a traitor in his life, many an evil sorcerer who would falsely earn the trust of the Pendragon household, just to stab a knife in their back (figuratively or literally; take your pick).

But would Arthur see Merlin in that same light, if he revealed his magic? Merlin trusted his Prince, of course – but if Arthur would trust Merlin or not in return was a different question entirely. After all, Merlin's situation was completely different to Arthur's; Merlin wasn't going through a tremendous, life-altering change. Merlin hadn't been fed false knowledge about his own kind for his entire life. Merlin didn't have a liar for a best friend.

But Merlin _did _have a best friend in Arthur. And he knew that Arthur had never kept any life-changing secrets from him. Arthur was an honest young man with a good heart, and because of this, Merlin wouldn't lie to his best friend any longer.

So his mind was made up, despite the many voices in his head screaming against it. No more lies. No more trouble. Arthur had to know the truth or he may never know the extent of the goodness of magic.

Arthur _had _to find out. The deceit and lies had to come to an end and the wall that Merlin had so successfully and impressively sustained for years was about to be knocked down. For the good of Arthur.

…Of course, while this decision was for Arthur's own good, when being told the Prince, at first, clearly didn't see it that way. His eyes widened in what Merlin could only describe as astonishment. Merlin began to regret his decision immediately. He shouldn't have done this. With his father falling apart, his half-sister betraying him and the Kingdom, and his own magic coming into the light, Arthur had enough on his plate. Merlin revealing his magic to the Prince was pretty much like loading his plate up even further, and lacing it with poison. _Stupid, stupid…_

"_Stupid_."

Merlin lifted his head, wide eyes on the Prince. "What?"

"Why didn't I _see_ it?" Arthur growled, clearly to himself. He placed a hand to his forehead, shaking his head sharply. His face seemed to contort as he thought – a mix of anger and disbelief. Probably not disbelief at Merlin's confession - more disbelieving that _he_ hadn't realised himself.

The silence was unbearable – Merlin wished it would stop. But then, the alternative was probably Arthur shouting at him, and that didn't seem too appealing either. Merlin tried to consider some way to calm the Prince, who had stepped back a few paces, probably needing space. Merlin tried to root through his brain; tried to find, in the vast space of his mind, the conversation he had planned out to have with Arthur while he was debating whether to reveal his magic or not. It was useless, though – he had planned how _he_ could have responded, sure, but he had planned it without the attachment of seeing Arthur's true reaction, feeling his true feelings. After all, the Prince had magic, too, and so Merlin could, through the magic in the air, sense Arthur's despair, his denial, his realisation at his own ignorance, and then his fury.

_Fury_.

Merlin swallowed as he lifted his head to see Arthur glaring straight at him. "And _you!" _

Merlin pathetically opened his mouth to speak, but it quivered. He felt fear reverberating through him and, to his surprise, he could feel Arthur's fear, too – however deep-seated and hidden it may have been. Merlin knew Arthur to be a warrior, though, and he knew that when Arthur was afraid, he channelled that fear into fury and battled, fought his way through until either he was defeated, or victorious. Merlin hoped that the battle would be one of words, not of action – he was useless with a sword, and didn't want to harm Arthur with the one thing he _could _harm him with as that would obliterate his mission of showing Arthur the goodness of magic.

But Arthur was far ahead of Merlin, and he certainly wasn't thinking anything through like Merlin was. His fury was leading him, just like it did in his battles. His eyes burned gold, and Merlin jolted as he felt the tip of the metal sword against his back. He turned his head a little to see the sword floating in mid-air, and Arthur's eyes were still burning that sharp, angry gold.

Merlin raised his hands, slowly, in an attempt to show Arthur that he meant no harm. Carefully, he murmured the Prince's name, "Arthur-,"

_"No!" _Arthur bellowed, and the sword pressed a little further into Merlin's back as Arthur's eyes glowed violently. The magic in the room was heavily pressing against Merlin – Arthur's newly awakened magic was clearly quite strong and out of control at the moment, probably because of the fury fueling it. But Merlin reminded himself that he was Emrys, and he could certainly out-magic his company if he tried. Wincing, he encouraged his own magic to ease the sword further away from his back, just to lessen his discomfort. He didn't dare to make any sudden movements, though, in case Arthur overreacted and did something he may regret.

Arthur, on the other side of the room, was breathing heavily and unevenly. There seemed to be an internal battle raging on – the anger, which was controlling the magic, versus Arthur's feelings of companionship and trust for his manservant. Merlin wondered, in a small part of his mind, if Arthur still really trusted Merlin at all, or if all that trust had been destroyed at the sight of Merlin's magic.

The tense silence was broken again as Arthur opened his mouth to speak. His voice was harsh, troubled, but low, and more controlled than his previous breathing pattern. "You're a sorcerer."

"Yes."

"You've been lying to me."

Merlin knew he couldn't deny it. Otherwise it was just prove Arthur's point – that he was a liar. Hadn't he promised himself that he would tell no more lies to his future King? "…Yes." He whispered.

"Ever since we met." Arthur's voice was rising in volume, now. His magic was fighting back against Merlin's (though whether he realised what Merlin was doing or not, the warlock wasn't sure), and his sword was nudged a few millimetres further into Merlin's back. Merlin felt something wet and hot trickle down his back and gulped, shooting Arthur a pleading look.

"Arthur…" He said cautiously, like speaking to an agitated creature that he (against his will) and Arthur would hunt, "It's okay."

The magic in Arthur's eyes raged on. The sword remained levitated by Merlin's back. Merlin looked deep into Arthur's eyes and wondered if he had any control over his actions or if it was just the magic taking his emotions and responding to them. Merlin had done that, as a child, when he hadn't yet learned control of his magic. There was that one time in Ealdor when he had laughed so hard, the leaves had all dropped off of the tree he was stood under. There was another time when he had been scared enough of one of the bullies in the village that he had unintentionally conjured a kind of invisible shield which had protected him and his friend for a long time, while the bully had tried (unsuccessfully) to beat his way through and attack the boys. Even when he had came to Camelot, he had had, in the beginning, a little trouble controlling his magic. Out of shock, he had saved Gaius from falling off the balcony in his room. Out of fear and determination, he had slowed time down so that he could reach Arthur in time to stop the dagger the sorceress disguised as Lady Helen had thrown from shooting through his chest and killing him. He understood why Arthur's magic was misbehaving now. But that didn't mean he was enjoying having a sword to his back.

"I'm not going to hurt you." The warlock spoke gently, in his continuous attempt to calm the Prince. The sword began shaking, like it was in the hands of a terrified child. Arthur's eyes flickered, hints of blue fighting at the gold. Arthur's face seemed to contort with an emotion Merlin could not place. Fear? Anger? _Determination?_ But to do what – save Merlin or murder him? "Arthur." Merlin repeated, his voice rising a little in an attempt of authority, but he wasn't very practiced in the art of authoritative speaking, especially to Arthur. In their odd relationship, that role was usually left to the Prince himself. Merlin's voice faltered a little as he tried again. "Arthur. Put the sword down."

Merlin did not believe his effort would be rewarded, but Arthur seemed to regain control of his senses, his emotions. The sword shook a little more, stilled, and then fell to the ground with an almighty clang. The magic in the room calmed to a gentle hum, as if the incident with the sword was forgotten; at least, forgotten by the magic. Merlin still remembered it - it was imprinted well into his mind, and his back.

Arthur, meanwhile, was no longer facing his manservant – was no longer daring to. He had turned quickly on his heels and strode over to his window, which gave him a brilliant view of the courtyard. He folded his arms in a hostile stance and watched out the window, not once even endeavouring a glance at Merlin.

Merlin, bravely or stupidly, swallowed the lump forming in his throat and made a few wary steps towards Arthur. He spent the steps, which felt an eternity apart, trying to think of the next thing to say.

"Arthur-," Well, it was a start.

"You never told me." Arthur interrupted, saving Merlin the trouble. His voice didn't seem angry or cold now – it just seemed small. Sad.

"I couldn't." Merlin replied, his guilt filling his chest like a flood. All reasons for not revealing his magic he had known and believed with all his heart only a few hours ago were evaporating and fleeing, leaving Merlin wondering why he hadn't confessed sooner and berating himself for not doing so. He tried so hard to remind himself of Camelot's strict laws against sorcerers and his impending destiny at Arthur's side which disallowed him from going anywhere, but it all seemed rather redundant now he thought of the friend he had betrayed. What did he seem like now, to Arthur? As bad as Morgause? Morgana? Surely he couldn't believe that.

"Well, why _not?" _Arthur growled, his volume rising again.

Merlin gripped on to his reasons like they were his lifelines, the very things holding him together. He spoke in a small voice, "Your father would've had me killed."

"He wouldn't have had to know." Arthur protested. Merlin thought about Arthur – loyal to Camelot until the very end – and doubted his secrecy on the matter of Merlin's magic.

"You mean to tell me that if I had told you I was sorcerer, you wouldn't have told the King? Your _father?"_

Merlin couldn't see Arthur's face crease with frustration from his viewpoint, but he did see the Prince stiffen slightly and knew Arthur had realised what he already had – that Arthur was too close to his father, too loyal, to allow such a betrayal to go unnoticed. Merlin, for the first time since he had shown his magic to Arthur, started to panic about what this reveal meant for him now – for his future in Camelot. That is, if he was even to have a future at all.

"You need to go." Arthur said decisively, "You need to leave."

Merlin's shoulders drooped, "Arthur-,"

"You need to leave here," Arthur repeated, "and so do I."

Merlin realised that Arthur was still driven on leaving Camelot so as to not pose a threat. "Arthur, we can't do that."

"We have _magic, _Merlin." Arthur snarled disgustedly. He was acknowledging two things he probably never had dreamed of in the same short sentence, and Merlin knew that he couldn't blame Arthur for being petrified. "Did you forget what I just did with the sword, to you? What if I do that to my father? What if I did it, but really did him some harm? I can't risk it. And as for you… you need to get out of here before you stupidly land yourself on the pyre. I'm surprised you haven't done it already."

For a moment, the idea was intriguing. Merlin and Arthur, two sorcerers, on the run from a place where they would be persecuted for who they were, where they were in danger every step they took. Two friends, together. Although that moment was only short. After all, Merlin knew that their true destinies lied in Camelot, and that leaving _together _was hardly part of Arthur's plans anyway. Due to his anger at both Merlin and himself, Arthur was probably planning isolation from everyone and everything. Running away _with_ Merlin was undoubtedly not on Arthur's mind.

"Arthur, we can't leave." Merlin said, "You're the Crown Prince – you need to be here. You can't go."

Arthur scoffed, "I doubt the kingdom would be happy with a sorcerer for a King."

_Some might… _Merlin thought gently, though he knew that, having lived with Uther's prejudices for over twenty years, most of Camelot was probably engraved with the belief that magic was evil.

So, instead of trying to disprove Arthur's theory, he decided on an alternative to letting Arthur leave. "We could go and talk to Gaius about it."

Arthur shook his head firmly, "No. No-one else can know."

"But-,"

"I will _not _let either of us end up on the pyre!"

Arthur whirled around to face Merlin and his eyes were once again gold – this time, only for a second. Something hit the back of Merlin's head and he moaned, rubbing the tender injury gingerly. Arthur's goblet was lying on the floor by Merlin's feet.

Regardless of the goblet, and the yelling, Merlin took a small ounce of confidence in Arthur's seeming reluctance to let Merlin end up executed. Maybe there was some hope for him, for their friendship.

Arthur passed Merlin and moved back to the bag he had been packing before Merlin had revealed his magic. He leaned against the table, a sigh of desperation escaping his mouth.

"Get out." Arthur muttered, and it sounded so much like it had in their fight the night before that Merlin shuddered. How much had changed between them in only twenty four hours? How many truths had surfaced and shaken up their friendship in such a monumental way, in such an unbelievably short time? "Get out, while you still have the time."

Merlin frowned, "Arthur-,"

"_Merlin_," Arthur interrupted, growling, "I swear, if my father doesn't execute you, _I _will, unless you get out of here."

But Merlin refused. He stood, rooted to the ground, his presence at Arthur's side gentle. "The last time you told me to get out," the warlock spoke up, "you ended up having a horrible nightmare of your own execution. I should've helped you and I didn't. But I have a chance to now, and I'm not leaving you."

Arthur didn't seem to care about Merlin's heartfelt words. His mind was on other matters. His eyebrows were raised incredulously, "How did you know about the contents of my dream?"

"Oh." Merlin swallowed. Arthur nodded, slowly, a sarcastic look on his face. Merlin took slight comfort from it, because it was reminiscent of their friendship and so kept him going, kept him fighting. He tried to come up with a pitiable excuse for knowing something Arthur's hadn't shared yet, but sighed as he remembered his vow – no lies, no secrets. "I wanted to know what was going on in your head and, well, you wouldn't tell me. So I… might have entered your dreams to see."

Arthur froze for a few seconds, a look of mixed confusion, disbelief, and almost amusement across his face. "You came into my _head?"_

Merlin shrugged, like it didn't really matter, "Only to protect you."

Arthur shook his head in disbelief and sighed. "You invaded my privacy. And now you want me to trust you."

Merlin remained silent, unable to form a sentence which would defend his case. It didn't seem that he needed it, though. Arthur was at the end of his rope and seemed unsure of where to go, what to do.

"How can I know that Gaius can be trusted with my secret? He is loyal to my father – surely he would tell him."

"He wouldn't." Merlin knew exactly what to say at this point. He trusted Gaius with his life, with his secret, and he knew he could trust him with Arthur's, too.

"How can you be so sure?"

Merlin bit his lip, not knowing whether his next comment would save him or condemn him, "Gaius wouldn't tell. He knows about my magic."

Arthur's reaction was a sarcastically amused snort, "Of course he does." He muttered, "Should've seen it coming. And I suppose Guinevere knows as well? Morgana? My knights, perhaps?"

Merlin gulped, "Well… Gwen doesn't know."

"Great." Arthur drawled.

"Anyone who does know only knows by accident." Merlin continued, "Gaius knows because I saved his life on the day we met, with my magic. Lancelot knows because I enchanted his lance when he rode out to kill the griffin."

"They've known that long?"

"Well… yeah."

"And _you _were the one who killed the griffin?"

"I only helped."

Arthur was clearly beyond snide comments now. His anger and malice had completely subsided, and he seemed to, for the first time, be considering Merlin's suggestion of seeing Gaius.

"Alright. Fine." He said, before retrieving his sword from the floor in the centre of the room.

"Arthur, you won't need a sword-," Merlin began, but Arthur was already at the door, his weapon at his side, and the look on Arthur's face made it clear that he wasn't going to surrender it. Merlin swallowed a lump in his throat, counted to ten, and then followed the Prince out of the door.

* * *

Arthur strode purposefully through the dawn-lit corridors, keeping a wary distance from the man at his side. Merlin had convinced him that the only option, before he did something irrational, was to go to Gaius. The Court Physician would help, Merlin was sure of it.

But was Arthur sure of Merlin? Well, that was a different matter. Every so often as they walked, Arthur peered over at his friend; the sorcerer who had eluded him for so long that it had taken Arthur obtaining magic himself for Merlin to build the courage to break down the wall he'd so strongly and securely built over the years.

But Merlin would pop his head up too; to catch Arthur's suspicious eyes for only a second before the Prince diverted his gaze, unable to get the image of the gold tint in Merlin's blue eyes out of his mind.

Footsteps sounded around the corner from where the men were. Arthur, who had brought his sword in case of any trouble (from a stranger, a guard, or maybe even his company), gripped the handle tightly, thinking that he would protect Merlin should he need to before realising with a growl that Merlin could probably protect himself.

However neither the sword, nor Merlin's magic, were of need. Guinevere was the one to round the corridor, her eyes widening as they landed on Arthur. Arthur dropped his sword and ran to his love, remembering the last time he talked to her (in a dream, that is) with a sullen heart.

"Arthur?" Guinevere said, startled as the Prince enveloped her in a hug. He rocked her softly, from side to side - it comforted him for a moment.

"Guinevere," He breathed, "You don't know how happy I am to see you."

"Why?" Gwen asked, as Merlin approached behind Arthur. He kept a respectful distance from the couple, though, allowing them space. He held Arthur's sword in his hand but for the moment Arthur did not care.

Guinevere placed her palm on Arthur's cheek and gazed up into his blue eyes. "Arthur, is everything alright? What happened?"

The Prince bit his lip, feeling guilty at the thought that he hadn't entrusted Guinevere with his secrets sooner. "It's a long story."

"Well, if you wish to, you can share it with me." Guinevere said, "I will listen."

"Um, I hate to interrupt," Merlin spoke up. Arthur turned to face him with a small scowl, but Merlin continued speaking nonetheless, "Arthur, we need to get to Gaius before he leaves later on for his duties." Merlin then addressed Guinevere, "Gwen, you can come if you want. We'll explain everything there."

Guinevere nodded. Merlin passed Arthur back his sword before carrying on down the corridor. Arthur stood with Gwen for a moment before he followed suit, dragging Guinevere with him by her hand.

"Whatever this is, it must be urgent." Guinevere spoke up after a few seconds silence.

"Hmm?" Arthur mumbled.

"You and Merlin." She explained, "Whatever you're going to see Gaius about… it's very important, isn't it?"

Arthur bit his lip, considering just how much he really wanted to confide in Guinevere. How could he tell her that both he and his manservant were sorcerers? He didn't know how he expected her to react to something like that. Guinevere's father was, after all, killed as a result of secrecies to do with magic. How would she react to finding that the man she loved was a sorcerer himself? She was a kind, sympathetic woman – surely she would understand?

He swallowed, his loyalty to Guinevere overpowering his logical sense of self-preservation. Besides, Guinevere was as loyal to him as he was to her.

"Yes, Guinevere." He murmured, squeezing her hand. "It is of the utmost importance."

Guinevere's brow creased a little in worry. "Well, what's happening? Is the kingdom being attacked?"

Arthur remained silent, unsure of how to reply to Guinevere's question and so refusing to. However that wasn't his best plan and Guinevere tugged him to a stop.

"Arthur?" She questioned. Arthur could see out of the corner of his eye that Merlin had stopped too, and was stood a few metres from the couple. "Arthur. You're scaring me." Gwen said softly, "Please, tell me what is going on."

He didn't know why, but Arthur found himself looking to Merlin, as if asking his permission. Merlin nodded gently, and so Arthur turned back to Guinevere.

"Do you trust me?" He asked her, holding onto her wrists as if he was worried she would run off should he let go.

"…Arthur?"

"Just answer me, Guinevere." Arthur said desperately, "Do you trust me?"

Guinevere frowned, "Of course I do." She said, "Why?"

Arthur bit his lip. His magic bubbled inside of him, like an eager child awaiting their parent's permission to go and play. It gently pushed at Arthur, encouraging. It wanted to show off, and Arthur felt pleasantly surprised as he realised that the intentions of his magic weren't to hurt, but to just impress. Arthur knew no spells, but his magic seemed to need no help. It just told him to close his eyes, to focus on his love for Guinevere, his care for her, and so he did. He took a few steps back, dropping her wrists.

A gust of wind whistled softly through the corridor. Something possessed Arthur for a second and, against all his beliefs, he willed his magic to do its work. The magic cheered all around him in excitement at being able to show itself off to Guinevere, the woman its master loved, and so it willingly responded to Arthur's instructions, weaving a beautiful spell together that was similar to something Arthur had seen before.

Arthur's eyes opened, and he could hear Guinevere gasp, but he was far too focused on what his magic – what _he_ – had created.

A small ball of light floated between the pair, just above their heads. It was red; deep red; _Camelot_ red. But it was also the red of love; passionate and warm, and Arthur somehow found all his dark, prejudiced beliefs on magic evaporate for the moment as he stared at the beautiful ball of light that promised that everything would be alright. As Arthur's emotions weren't out of control (like before) and his magic hadn't been trained, so was not strong, the light was no bigger than a piece of fruit. But this did not matter, because it shone brilliantly nonetheless, like a light to guide the way.

Arthur smiled suddenly, as he remembered with fondness, a time so many years ago when he tried to save Merlin from death by finding the Mortaeus flower. A similar light – only one that was larger, and blue rather than red – had saved his life back then.

He was still sceptical of magic, and his magic particularly, and his future now was still a dark puzzle that he had yet to unravel. But in that short moment of time, he saw magic as nothing but a beautiful gift.

Arthur's magic was swelling proudly at its master's astonishment, and the ball of light shone its brightest before innocently fading away. Guinevere stared at the place it had been for a full five seconds before looking back at Arthur with a look which was a mixture of astonishment, disbelief, awe, and fear. Carefully, she spoke. "You have magic."

Arthur swallowed, feeling Merlin's presence at his shoulder.

"We both do." Arthur corrected.

Guinevere turned to Merlin this time. "Is this true?" She asked. Merlin nodded, but he did not dare to demonstrate his magic like Arthur had, in case the displays overwhelmed the maidservant.

Guinevere seemed lost in her thoughts, confused. Arthur wanted nothing more than to reach out, hold Guinevere, and promise her that everything would be okay. But her reaction to his sorcery in his dream was the only thing holding him back. He didn't want to frighten her, and he feared that, should he make a wrong move, he would lose her forever.

Fortunately, Merlin was there to do what Arthur didn't have the guts to. "Gwen," He muttered. "We won't hurt you." She gazed up at him, and at Arthur, but the gaze was no longer one of fear. It was an acceptance – a confused, wary acceptance – but that nonetheless. Perhaps Gwen was remembering their previous conversation: _"Do you trust me?" "Of course."_

Once again, Arthur felt his pride for Guinevere swell. She stood confidently as she spoke to the two men in front of her, despite what she had just learnt, with the same kindness she would have before she discovered their secret. "I wish to come with you." She said bravely, "I want to understand – whatever it is you need to speak to Gaius about, I want to hear, too. If that's okay."

Both of the men nodded in response, neither having any objection to her presence, because her trust in them was a mutual, returned thing.

She then clenched onto Arthur's hand. He looked down at it in disbelief, in happiness. Gwen gave him a soft smile, and she followed Merlin down the corridor towards Gaius' chambers.

* * *

**A/N: I couldn't not put a little bit of Arwen in there. I mean, I love them too much. I really enjoyed writing Arthur's magic and it's excitement at showing off to Gwen :D **

**As for the Merlin and Arthur conversation, well, I had Arthur react in that way because of his magic and his out-of-control emotions, at the time. We all saw how out-of-hand Morgana's magic got when she was afraid, so Merlin was lucky to get out of that conversation so unscathed :P**

**I hope you guys enjoyed it! I'd love to see your reactions in a review :)**

**~Amy x**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey guys! It's last chapter time! Stick around for the epilogue though!**

**I apologise for the lateness of this chapter - as I said on my profile, I finally caught up with myself and so had difficulty writing this chapter. I wanted it to be perfect, and so now I'm pretty pleased with the outcome. Hopefully the epilogue will be on time this week, though I can't promise that.**

Mediatrix **kindly mentioned that she thought this story should be longer, Thank you very much, firstly! Now, in response to that - I was actually thinking of a way to make this story longer, but I already have two multichaps running for a different fandom. However, one day I may choose to make a sequel to this - and hopefully it'll be longer. I also have an idea for an alternative ending which was an idea given to me an a much earlier review! So, would you guys be interested in a sequel? Or in this alternative ending? Tell me so in a review and I just may write them!**

**I don't own Merlin.**

* * *

**_7_**

Merlin observed the Prince with his watchful, wise eyes. He had seen a lot in his short time in this world; battles and peace, love and hatred, fear and compassion. He'd experienced more than he knew most people double his age could ever dream of – he'd faced bandits, witches, dragons, Kings. He had challenged some of the most powerful beings in existence.

But yet, as he stared at his friend, the Prince (who was stood by the window in Gaius' room, looking out across his kingdom in silence), he couldn't, for the life of him, decipher what he was thinking. That frightened him more than any war he had faced, any monster he had defeated, any impossible tasks that he had miraculously accomplished.

He, Arthur, and Gwen had made their way to Gaius' chambers with the constant questioning from Gwen being the only reason anyone was speaking. Gwen seemed to be coming to terms with the thought of her love and one of her closest friends _both _being sorcerers and she was coping quite well – not that Merlin had doubted that she would. Gwen was a wise, benevolent woman, and very understanding. She was also incredibly curious – one thing Gwen seemed to have lost since Morgana's betrayal was her innocence; her sweet, bubbly attitude that Merlin had come to associate with Gwen from the second he met her. After her father was killed, and then when she had later come to realise the darkness that encased the world at times, the maidservant had admittedly lost some of that innocence and bumbling nature that was so fascinating to most of the people she knew, including both Merlin and Arthur.

But, now that attitude seemed to have returned, and Gwen was eager to discover as much as she could about Arthur and Merlin's magic; she had spent the whole trip to the physician's chambers trying to ask Arthur questions about his magic – how he had got it, when he first realised he had magic, if it was easy to do. She did so rather animatedly, which amused Merlin slightly. It was like she was that bubbly teenager again, and Merlin appreciated seeing it.

However, Arthur had been cold with the subject, despite the apparent wonder that had lit his face while he shown Guinevere his magic. He had answered with only one-phrase answers, and so once Gwen realised that Arthur's tale of magic was a short one and once she believed she had asked far too much from him, she turned to Merlin and started asking him the questions. Merlin had found it to be a great experience to finally share everything he had been hiding since the day he arrived in Camelot. It was invigorating to share his secrets with one of his best friends, and not fear what was to happen to him. Merlin no longer feared that Arthur was going to him – he trusted his friend and hoped that his own knowledge on the matter of magic and his comfort towards the Prince's current situation would save him from execution. Merlin also knew that Arthur was a man of honour, and he wouldn't dare to tell his father of Merlin's magic unless he was willing to also admit to his own and throw himself into the flames. Merlin was determined to not let that happen.

Gwen was clearly even more interested in Merlin's tales, and even Arthur had shown interest in a couple of them. As Merlin had explained some of his early adventures – like when he had animated Valiant's shield and saved Arthur from the Sidhe – Arthur would make small comments such as, "That was you?" or "You told me something different at the time.", (this particular comment was said not with malice or disgust in his friend's deception; just with surprise), and even he, towards the end of their walk, seemed interested in Merlin's story. However as they had reached Gaius' chambers he had retired back inside himself and, while Merlin had woken his carer and filled him in on basic details of Arthur's situation, he had stayed perfectly silent.

Gaius had definitely been shocked to hear of Arthur's situation, to say the least. Merlin explained hastily, while Arthur stared out of a window and Gwen found herself a seat so to not get in the way, about Arthur's dream of his execution, of Algar, and finally he added (hushed, hoping that Arthur wasn't paying much attention anymore) about how he had revealed his own magic to the Prince. Gaius had been taken aback by this too, but he understood why Merlin had done it – to protect the Prince. Merlin regretted deeply that he hadn't come to Morgana's aid when she had discovered her magic, before it was too late. His foolishness on the matter had cost him a friend, and Camelot an ally. He wasn't going to dare to allow the other side of his coin fall down a similar path to his greatest enemy.

Merlin finished his story with a sigh, and Gaius was silent for a few seconds, taking it all in. Merlin spoke again, one thought clouding his mind, "Gaius, how did this happen?" He asked, "How did…" He trailed off, gesturing his head towards the back of the Crown Prince, who snorted at Merlin's silence, clearly understanding that Merlin was treading carefully around him.

"I'm not a wimp, Merlin." Arthur muttered, "You won't hurt my feelings." He added, almost mockingly, "Say what you wish."

Merlin continued to speak, though carefully, "How did Arthur get magic?"

Gaius considered it for a moment, "It's possible it was Nimueh's doing." He concluded. Merlin remembered Algar coming to a similar conclusion and his eyes widened.

"You think Nimueh did this on purpose? Maybe as revenge?"

Gaius shook his head, "I wouldn't say that, Merlin. When Arthur was born, Nimueh and Uther were good friends. It was only afterwards, when the Great Purge began, that Nimueh would have any reason to try and take revenge on him." Merlin noticed the words that had died on Gaius' throat, and they filled him with a solemn ache. _"It was only afterwards, when Ygraine died…" _Merlin wondered if Arthur had noticed too. He hoped not.

"So it was an accident?" Merlin clarified.

"Most likely," Gaius admitted. "Nimueh was a powerful sorceress, she knew what she was doing; but it is possible that her strong magic did leave some kind of mark on Arthur."

Arthur snorted for the second time in less than a minute. He still gazed out of the window, though, not getting truly involved in the conversation. Merlin saw Gwen staring at him with an aching look in her eye – she wanted to reach out and comfort him but she didn't seem to know how. Merlin knew exactly how she felt. He turned back to Gaius.

"So, what do we do now?" He asked, "I mean, we can't tell Uther – we don't know how he'll react."

"I'd like to think that we do." Gwen said, standing up from her seat, "Uther may have a stubborn heart, but surely he wouldn't execute his own son."

Merlin was not as certain, "I'm not sure, Gwen. Even if he didn't decide to execute Arthur, he would surely be affected by his only son having magic; the one thing he's fought all these years."

Gwen frowned, "But he loves Arthur!"

"The law bends for no man, Guinevere." All eyes turned to Arthur, who had spoken rather loudly considering his absence in the conversation so far. His arms were still folded and he was still not facing the others present. His tone was a little solemn, but he was gravely sure of what he was saying. Merlin could only catch one side of his face and so only one eye, but there was something clouding that eye – a dark memory, perhaps. Maybe he was recalling his dream, where he had been stood on his execution platform. "Not even the King's son."

Gwen's eyes widened, "You couldn't possibly think that, Arthur."

"It's been this way since I was born." Arthur said, "My father is very strict with his laws – he'll never change them; not for anyone."

Gwen's shoulders sunk, and Merlin could tell what she was thinking. If the law was to bend for any man, it would certainly be Arthur. "Will you tell him?" She asked carefully. Arthur sighed, considering his answer vigilantly.

"I am loyal to the throne of Camelot." He mused, "But I fear of what such a revelation would do to him. After Morgana's betrayal, he's never quite been the same. I worry that if my father were to find that I am another one of his children cursed with magic, he would never be himself again."

Merlin felt the word 'cursed' stab in his chest like a physical injury. "Magic isn't a curse." He defended quietly. Arthur let out a low, sad chuckle.

"No." He whispered. "It isn't. As a child, I would imagine magic as a monster. A plague which enveloped its victims – pulsed through every vein, every thought. It twisted and shaped its hosts until there was nothing of the original person left – just a shell, filled with anger and hatred and that unnatural force which made them do impossible things." He finally turned to face those present, and his eyes were unbelievably soft, "I was in denial when the concept of my magic was given to me. I thought that, should I accept it, the magic would take me as an easy target, and I'd be conquered, like Morgana was."

"But you haven't been." Merlin finished with a small smile. Arthur returned it, shaking his head.

"No." He agreed, "No, I haven't. My magic doesn't feel like a curse. It hasn't blackened my thoughts, my feelings. In fact, it's the contrary – everything has just felt so… bright, so clear. It's like the magic enhances the senses."

Gwen was smiling now, too, but her smile was more real and true than either of the men, "So that's why it's been so _bright_ around you recently."

"I suppose so." Arthur nodded, and then his expression turned solemn again, "Yet I doubt that my father would believe in that, no matter how much I tried to convince him. After Morgana's betrayal, he would expect me to do exactly the same to him."

Gwen sighed, "So I suppose secrecy is the only option."

"For now." Arthur concurred. He then shot a wary, yet sarcastic, look at Merlin. "Maybe Merlin can teach me; he's been doing it for years."

Arthur's comment settled uncomfortably over the room, and he turned his back again on his company, staring out of the window. Merlin didn't know whether to feel guilt at the pain he'd clearly given to Arthur by lying to him for so long, or to be angry that Arthur wouldn't understand why his secrets had been so necessary from the start. What was he supposed to do? Introduce himself as a sorcerer to the young, arrogant Prince, the second he laid eyes on him?

Before Merlin could voice his thoughts, the Prince was on his way to the door, avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room. "Thank you for your help, Gaius." He was almost businesslike in his thanking; emotionless. Deep down Merlin just wanted to yell at him, but he knew that this wouldn't aid in their situation; just release a little of his anger. It wouldn't help in the long run. Merlin was pretty good at storing his anger and frustration – he'd had so much practice over the last few years, he could be considered an expert.

He didn't stop himself from blurting out a small-sounding grumble of, "Arthur," but it was useless in stopping Arthur, who shut the door behind him about half a second later.

Merlin's disappointment radiated into his magic, and all around the room.

* * *

Guinevere watched the despair etch onto Merlin's face, and felt her heart sink for him. Just when she'd thought that Arthur was warming up to Merlin and accepting his magic, she was mistaken.

She couldn't believe Arthur; his immaturity, his obliviousness to how Merlin would react to his sudden exit. She watched Merlin as his shoulders sunk and a frown fell onto his usually-happy face. She knew exactly what he thought – that Arthur had turned on him.

She was determined to not make it so.

"Merlin," She spoke up carefully. Merlin looked up at her, trying to give her a soft smile, and Gwen could see the Merlin she had known before finding out about his magic across every inch of his face. This both comforted and irritated her – why couldn't Arthur see it? This Merlin and the Merlin they had both grown so close to were the exact same person, just with a little more power than one would expect from someone who had his bumbling, excitable attitude.

She gave him her warmest smile, and his grew in response, "He will come around, Merlin." She promised. "I will make sure he does."

Merlin nodded. Gwen wasn't sure if he was convinced or not, but she was fairly certain he at least had faith in her, even if he didn't have faith in Arthur.

And so Guinevere left one sorcerer behind her in Gaius' chambers and followed another out the door and down the corridor. She was shocked, but impressed, at how well she had handled news of the man she loved and her best friend both being sorcerers. She had never been as opposed to magic as the likes of King Uther or maybe even Arthur himself, but she was certainly not a supporter of those sorcerers who plotted revenge on the King for the death of their kin. Regardless of the fact that King Uther had killed her father for supposedly consorting with sorcerers, she had never once believed that revenge was a necessity.

Then again, she wasn't desperate. Perhaps these sorcerers had nothing to lose, but she was not in such a situation. Prior to her betrayal, she'd had Morgana. And even after that, she had Merlin. She had Arthur.

She shook her head. Merlin and Arthur. _Sorcerers_. She had to let out a short laugh about it. _Sorcerers! _Now that she had time to think, Merlin's power was obvious. Gwen hadn't forgotten of the dragon attack; of how a lowly servant had returned from a deathly battle, wearing no armour and with no training in combat, where many trained knights had fallen. Perhaps Merlin had truly been the one to deal with the dragon. In that case, then Merlin had saved Arthur. Again. If it wasn't for Merlin's powers, Gwen would be without her love; Camelot would be without an heir.

_No,_ Gwen thought. She knew it stretched further than that. She had listened to a handful of stories while they had walked to Gaius's chambers. It wasn't just Arthur Merlin had saved. He had saved _her_, before, on a number of occasions – one example he gave was the time when he had become an old man and taken the blame for a fictional crime which she was accused of. She had always wondered why the stranger had taken the blame for the crimes Morgana had woven together, and now she understood that it had not been a stranger but a _friend_. Her protector. _Camelot's_ protector. As she was led to believe from his stories, Merlin had saved her, Arthur, Uther, Gaius, and the whole of Camelot _several_ times over. Every citizen owed him their lives.

As for Arthur's magic, well, this didn't clear anything up – it didn't connect dots which had sat separated for years. It only brought up questions. Questions which had been answered, questions that hadn't. Gwen couldn't deny that she was shocked to hear that Arthur had been born of magic; yet it sounded like something Uther would do, in his desperation to protect his almighty kingdom. It just didn't really make sense; Arthur and magic were pretty much pole opposites. And yet, these two opposites were now one.

The thought suddenly made Gwen laugh, because it made her think of herself and Arthur. How different were they? They worked well together, though. Gwen hoped that, one day, Arthur would grow to cope with his magic in the same way he had grown to love her, and she knew it was possible from that gleam in his eye she had picked up on when he had shown her that beautiful spell. It was that little spark that reminded her of the small sparks of kindness he would demonstrate amongst all that arrogance when Merlin first arrived. If Arthur could accustom to being friends with his servant, could fall in love with an ordinary peasant who was far below his station, and could make the miraculous transformation from arrogant and selfish to benevolent and understanding, he could most definitely accustom himself to the mysterious, yet beautiful art of magic. Gwen knew she would help him, and Merlin most definitely would. They would both stick by his side for as long as they would live.

She caught up to the Prince in the corridor that his chambers were found in. Seeing Arthur seemed to remind her of that solemn look on Merlin's face, which made her almost angry at the Prince.

"Arthur!" She called after him. Arthur turned at the sound of her voice, and his expression softened a little, before hardening once again, and he turned his back on Gwen again, his pace quickening. This just infuriated Gwen further, and she quickened her own pace in response. Before Arthur could shut his door on her she slipped in the door and folded her arms, staring coldly at him. Arthur visibly shuffled under the maidservant's gaze – something he wouldn't have shown should his ego be as inflated as it used to be.

"Guinevere." He sighed.

Gwen huffed. "Arthur." She began. She didn't know where she was going with this, but she just needed to make Arthur realise just how stupid it was of him to leave Merlin in such a way.

"What can I help you with?" Arthur asked monotonously, walking over to his desk. He started to distract himself with some insignificant sheet of parchment, clearly making a substantial effort to keep his eyes away from Gwen, because he just might melt under her gaze if he dared to look.

"Well, first of all, you could stop acting like a child and look at me while I'm trying to talk to you." Gwen lashed out in a way that shocked the both of them. She remembered a time when she had spoken in a similar manner to the Prince before, though – when he had stayed at her home during the jousting tournament about two years ago. He had been behaving just as immaturely back then.

Arthur was startled to say the least, but he complied with Gwen's demands and placed the sheets back on the desk, and kept his focus on Gwen. At least he was putting this juvenile behaviour behind him, for now. Another thing he had been able to do after Gwen had exploded at him two years ago.

"Please, Guinevere," He said in a gentle, almost-wise tone; the tone which made Guinevere believe that someday he _could_ and _would_ become a great King. "Continue."

In return for Arthur's maturity, Gwen had calmed her vehemence for now, at least, and she took a deep breath in, and then breathed out with her next sentence. "You shouldn't have done that to Merlin."

Arthur's shoulders and strong expression slumped at the mention of his manservant's name. He bowed his head, closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head sharply.

Guinevere frowned. "Arthur, you've frightened Merlin. You walked out on him – he probably thinks that you don't trust him."

"I _know." _Arthur groaned. Gwen blinked.

"You know…?"

Arthur kept his head bowed for a moment, seemingly in thought, before he lifted it to speak to the maidservant. "I'm trying. I truly am, Guinevere. But it's… difficult to look at Merlin and see him as something completely different."

Gwen's eyebrows furrowed, "Different?"

"Guinevere, he's a sorcerer." He said. There was no disgust in his tone, which was a good sign – he couldn't really be disgusted at something he was, anyway. "He's always been without skill, and now he can do _magic. _He's always been weak, and now he's stronger than any of us. He's always been a clumsy fool, and now he's wise and powerful."

"He always has been." Gwen corrected lightly. "You just didn't know."

"Because he lied." Arthur added.

"He had no other choice."

"I know." Arthur exhaled tiredly. "It just makes me feel like he didn't trust me. He thought I'd turn him in."

Arthur had now visibly saddened. He rested a hand against his desk, almost as if he needed supporting, and Gwen realised that now was not the time to start yelling again. Instead, she approached her love and enveloped him in a gentle hug. Arthur held her in his arms in return, breathing softly into her ear.

"I think you need to talk this through with him." Gwen decided gently. "You need to patch things up – show him you're not afraid of him."

Arthur chuckled, "Afraid? Of Merlin? Never."

Gwen smiled at the return of Arthur's overconfidence and arrogance. At least he was joking around, too.

Gwen kissed his cheek, smiling. "Go prove that to him, then." She told him. "Make sure he _knows."_

Arthur nodded, before leaving the room. Gwen watched him go with a smile, before deciding she needed to get to King Uther and continue her duties.

Her thoughts, however, were on her best friend and her love, and the future that she saw for them together – as the great King, and the Sorcerer; his most trusted friend.

* * *

"Merlin."

_"Arthur?" _

Arthur watched Merlin jumped up from his seat, eyes wide, innocent, and clumsy. Arthur almost smiled to himself. Guinevere had been right – Merlin was the same bumbling idiot he always had been. He was just… a dangerous, powerful, wise bumbling idiot.

When Merlin got a hold of the situation, however, he seemed less of the clumsy, hilarious young man Arthur had grown fond of – instead, he seemed almost… shy. Arthur knew Merlin well, and Merlin was the very antonym of _shy. _Arthur felt guilt ache in his chest, because he knew that it was his fault. He approached Merlin slowly, holding up his hands in an attempt at a peace signal. Merlin noticeably eased up at his friend's gesture, and that put most of Arthur's guilt to rest.

Merlin gave Arthur a straight glance. "What can I help you with?" His tone was as impassive as his glance, and Arthur wished he could stop it. Well, that's what he was doing here, anyway.

"Nothing, Merlin." He said, shortening the distance between the two of them even more, forcing a smile onto his face. "I just needed to talk to you about something."

Merlin blinked, unsure. "About what?"

Arthur had to consider how to answer for a good few seconds. "About… your magic." He tried, "_You." _

Merlin clearly tensed again, but he kept a brave face in his speech. Arthur just wanted to grab the boy, shake him, and tell him that he was being stupid; yet he knew that a violent approach in this situation probably wasn't the best idea. "What about it?" Merlin asked.

"Well, first of all…" Arthur stumbled at this point. How was he supposed to admit he had been wrong? That wasn't something he enjoyed doing; especially not in front of Merlin, who wouldn't let anything like that go. Arthur mentally prepared himself for the sarcastic comments that he could see coming. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."

Merlin's eyes widened comically. Arthur could just see a smile toying at his lips; hear the beginnings of a snort. But Merlin, uncharacteristically, kept his control. "About leaving earlier?" Merlin asked, "Arthur, it's okay-,"

"No, Merlin, it's not." Arthur responded, his tone an impressive mix of strength and gentleness. Maybe that's what Guinevere was talking about when she mentioned the King she expected him to become – strong-willed yet understanding, tough yet caring. Arthur couldn't help but admit that he wished for the day when he would become that man, because he knew he was determined enough to become him. "It was immature of me to do that, but I just needed time to think things through, and now I've had it. That, and Guinevere talking some sense into me." He sighed. Something was bubbling away in his chest – possibly his magic. His magic was, after all, very fond of Merlin – just like it was with Guinevere – and why shouldn't it be? Not only was Merlin a good person; he was also a pretty impressive sorcerer.

Like a child, his magic reached out curiously, probing around as if it was searching for Merlin's magic. A warm glow suddenly radiated around him, and Arthur knew it was Merlin straight away – there was no-one who could make him feel happy in that way. Guinevere could, maybe – but this connection wasn't love. No, it was more like… almost as if Merlin _was _him. His other half.

Maybe Merlin felt the connection between their magic, too, because he noticeably relaxed his shoulders and grinned gently; that famous Merlin grin.

"It's incredible, isn't it?" He asked softly. Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, and he explained his point further, "The feeling. It's comforting, isn't it? Like you have something there to help you; to guide the way."

Arthur smiled, "I suppose you're right." He then smirked, "For once."

Merlin laughed, Arthur's jokes lightening his mood. "At least I'm not an ignorant prat."

Arthur scoffed, "Where are your more colourful insults, Merlin? I'm beginning to miss them. Clot-pole? Dollop-head?"

Merlin shrugged, "I dunno if I'd get away with them anymore. You're a threat now, with your magic."

Arthur snorted, "Are you saying I wasn't a threat before?" Merlin nodded innocently. "Merlin, I'm a trained warrior!"

"And I'm a trained _sorcerer." _Merlin retorted, "I'd defeat you easily."

Arthur found Merlin's atypical arrogance amusing. "That would hardly have been fair. I would've been caught unawares – and you'd have given away your little secret."

Merlin's expression dulled a little at the thought, "Yeah," He muttered, bowing his head for a moment, "Arthur, I'm sorry." He said, "I should've told you sooner."

"No, you shouldn't have, Merlin." Arthur replied strongly, "There was no need for you to. You needed to be comfortable with it. Although, I'll tell you one thing I thought about earlier, when I left."

Merlin's curiosity perked, "What's that?"

"I don't think I'd have turned you in to my father, if you had told me before." Arthur admitted. Merlin conspicuously smiled in relief.

"Really?"

Arthur nodded, "I'd have been mad at first, no doubt. But I'd have warmed up to the idea, like I have now. I trust you, Merlin – you're my friend."

Merlin grinned again, "And you're mine." And then he chuckled, amused, "Prince Arthur – friends with a _sorcerer_." He hummed, mocking confusion, "Who'd have thought it?"

Arthur laughed, and then mocked Merlin's tone, "Arthur Pendragon – a _sorcerer._ Who'd have thought it?"

The two friends chuckled, their magic cheering excitedly, for the two sides of the same coin were finally linked. The two men's magic responded to each other, weaving together like it was knitting together a beautiful tapestry – the friendly hum of blue with the proud glow of red – and it lit the room with a splendid light show. Merlin folded his arms in pride while Arthur considerably reddened. He chuckled.

"I'm gonna have to learn to control that." He considered. Merlin's jaw dropped.

"You want to learn magic?" He exclaimed, "This day is just one surprise after another!"

"I only want to learn to control it." Arthur explained, and then he smiled at his friend, "Would you be able to teach me?" His tone turned sarcastic as he added, "Oh, mighty Sorcerer?"

Merlin put on a face of deep thought, "If I do, will you stop insulting me?"

Arthur pretended to think for a long time, "But it's just such an important part of our relationship!" He protested.

"Can _I_ throw things at _you?"_

Arthur raised an eyebrow, "Merlin, remember; I am still the Master here, and you will show me respect."

Merlin shook his head, humming, "I don't think so." He sang, "After all, I'm the teacher and you're the student."

Arthur cringed, "I don't like this."

"Well, you're gonna have to grin and bear it." Merlin said, and then added a very ironic bow and a respectful, _"Sire."_

Merlin's magic now calmed, having accustomed to the other half that it had waited so long for. Arthur's magic, having lost its other half, dwindled and faded, hiding sombrely inside Arthur's core. The moment seemed to quieten the two men, and they stood in respectful silence for a few seconds, both absorbing the changes, both admiring the strength of their friendship and their trust in each other.

"So, what now?" Merlin asked after a few moments of silence. Arthur considered this; he was unsure himself.

"I say we go about our day normally," Arthur began, "You can stay my manservant – if you like. You can even move into the servants' chambers beside mine. If I have a magical…" He cringed, "…_episode, _it would help if you were there."

Merlin shrugged, "Good idea, I suppose. Your first magic lesson could be tomorrow, in the large open space outside of Camelot."

Arthur scoffed, "Merlin, I'm still the Master. You obey me."

Merlin pouted, "So I'm still your servant."

"Is there a problem with that?"

Merlin shrugged, "I think I should have a title more… fitted to my stature."

Arthur snorted, "Merlin, your _stature _is still servant; just… servant... with magic. And you're also my secret magic teacher. Besides, if I gave you an official title to do with your magic, my father would have both our heads."

Arthur frowned a little at the thought. Merlin seemed to notice, and so he put his hand on Arthur's shoulder – a gesture he must've picked up from Uther and Arthur himself as it was a sign of compassion for both men.

"One day, you can tell him." Merlin promised, "I wouldn't want you lying to your father."

Arthur gave a small smile, "That's the last thing I want."

Merlin smiled, nodded, and removed his hand from his friend's shoulder. Arthur gave a small sigh of acceptance, and the room was silent once again until a knock at the door shocked both men. Arthur shook his head in defiance to his small outburst of weakness.

"Enter." He called. A guard – one of the ones from the night before – entered the room and his face relaxed considerably when he spotted Arthur.

"Sire, the King was calling for you." He announced, "I supposed that you would be down here after your injury last night."

Arthur had almost forgotten about his injury. In fact, it didn't even hurt any more. The Prince wondered carefully if Merlin had used magic to heal it, and assumed that was probably the case. It sounded like the kind of stupid, selfless thing he would do – risk revealing his magic to help heal someone. He'd done it plenty of times before, so it seemed.

"Tell him I will be with him once I've finished here."

The guard nodded at Arthur's orders and left the room. Arthur turned to Merlin to find the man was smiling at him.

"Good luck." He smirked, "Here's a tip for controlling your magic – ignore anything he says about magic being evil. You won't feel a thing."

Merlin chuckled, but there was something hollow about it. Something told Arthur that Merlin had done exactly this on a number of times just to hold himself and his belief in the Pendragons together. In an attempt to comfort, Arthur copied the movement Merlin had made earlier – he touched his friend's shoulder, shook it gently.

"Merlin, I promise you – one day I will be King. And on that day, your- _our _kind… they will be free." Merlin's eyes brightened with hope, "But until that day, I promise that I will do everything in my power to protect the innocent sorcerers of this land. We won't have to live in fear one day, I promise you."

Merlin's reaction was of relief, of happiness, and something told Arthur that Merlin had been waiting to hear that from Arthur for a very long time.

"Thank you, Arthur." Merlin whispered gently.

"No, Merlin," Arthur said with a smile, "Thank _you." _

Arthur then turned on his heels, heading towards the door to meet with his father. He stopped at the doorway, as something tugged him back. He saw Merlin smiling at him, and could feel the bright, blue energy swirling around him. Reaching inside himself, Arthur tried to locate his own magic. When he did so, he forged a hand out of its tendrils, and reached out to Merlin's magic. Merlin's magic jumped at the chance to see Arthur's again, and it reached out, swelling in glee.

The prophecy was finally in motion. The world of magic would be saved again, by Emrys and the Once and Future King – men of legends.

But now, these legends were mere boys – only at the first pages in some of the greatest history books known to man. Arthur's magic gave Merlin's a playful shove, and Arthur himself grinned at Merlin. "You should probably get started on your chores." Arthur suggested, turning his back and beginning to walk out, "Just because you're some magical being doesn't mean you can laze around all day."

Arthur was sure he heard a mumble of, "Prat," but didn't turn around to scold Merlin. For he was _Merlin _– the man who could get away with calling the Prince such things. The man who would stand by Arthur's side forever.

His magic was still almost dancing at that thought. Its Master and Emrys. As one at last.

* * *

**THE END**

**A/N: There we go! :D I hope you enjoyed it! And remember to tell me if you'd be interested in any spin-offs and sequels - it may be some time before I do a full-length multi-chapter sequel, but I'll let you know when I do! **

**And as for my Merlin-fic as a whole, I have a one-shot planned, which I'm really excited for. I'll give you one clue - _evil!Arthur! _Yes, I'm excited :P It's based off of a YouTube Merlin video named 'A Change of Destiny', which you should so check out if you can :D**

**And of course we still have the epilogue to go! Until next time! x**

**~Amy x**


	8. Epilogue (I)

**A/N: Eheh. Eheheheh. I realise how late this is. And I apologise. I have excuses, I have reasons, but I doubt you'll wanna hear them. So, let's just say it's been crazy and leave it at that (bah exams)**

**Now since it's been so long since I posted and the epilogue is STILL not finished, I'm here to post part uno! Yeah, there'll be two parts. I'm going on hols tomorrow to France (I'm going to Pierrefonds! *squeals*) so I can't work on it for the rest of this week, so I thought I'd best post something as an apology. So here it is! Part 1 of the epilogue of 'The Untold Prophecy'! **

* * *

**_Epilogue (I)_**

Arthur Pendragon sat at his father's beside, his hands clasped together and his chin rested on his closed fists. His magic remained silent, watching its Master's father out of his eyes, sorrow filling its core. Anyone who looked close enough would've seen the gold tickling away at the blue in his eyes – his magic, vying against its Master's recently-acquired control over it to catch a glimpse of the King. Nowadays Arthur's magic hardly burst out of its shell; only in the most worthy moments. Banter with Merlin. Time with Gwen. It pretty much avoided council meetings and remained dormant in them – it despised them as much as Arthur himself did.

Another time it loved to be present (or rather felt it should be, to protect its Master) was when Arthur was at his Father's bedside. Arthur's magic had - shall we say - 'mixed feelings' about the King. Feelings of anger at the near genocide of his race was existent, but Arthur could not bring himself to dislike his Father. Unlike Morgana, he was not bitter and spiteful to that extent. Sighing, Arthur cast a quick glance towards the window, and sighed as he saw the rain trickling down the window. He wondered if _he_ and his magic were responsible for this solemn weather.

Uther Pendragon had been mentally ill for a long time. It had been almost a year since Morgana had betrayed him, and yet Uther still spent the days moping in his room, staring hopelessly out of the window just in case his beloved ward-but-daughter returned safely home, her magic vanished and the old Morgana back.

But Arthur was not as foolish. He knew that Morgana would never come back – she had been corrupted; she was too far-gone to ever return. Arthur had lost all hope that Morgana would come back a long time ago, but Uther's denial was relentless. Arthur feared that his father would die waiting for Morgana to return. And Arthur was haunted by the thought that his father's death was nearing like a galloping horse, on course to crush him.

As of two days ago, Uther had become bedridden.

Arthur had spent the last few weeks since he'd learnt about his magic the same way he had spent them prior to it – filling in for his father's duties as well as conducting his own. Arthur had wanted to start learning about his magic from his manservant (and unofficial teacher) Merlin – how to control it, how to understand it. He had spent so long in the shadows and now he was out in the light he was ready to understand everything that came with being a magical creature.

However, he had been so busy in the last few weeks. He had completely misunderstood just how ill his father was, mentally, and his duties that used to be his father's had now increased tenfold. Arthur was officially exhausted.

And so adding magic lessons to his schedule was hardly high on his priority list.

He didn't completely disregard his magic; that would be foolish. Merlin had advised him (_Merlin _had advised _him_) that his magic needed to be kept… _active, _he described it as. Merlin had been convinced that, since Arthur had not just decided to begin using magic one day (unlike many other sorcerers) that he was actually just like him. They were two sides of the same coin, after all. Arthur would smirk at the fact – just like _Merlin? _In more ways that one, he begged to differ.

A few days after Arthur had learned of his magic Merlin said that, if his situation was anything like Merlin's; his magic was a part of him, not just a skill but a _personality trait. _With that in mind, it wouldn't just stay hidden for long; should Arthur keep it dormant for long enough, the magic would probably seep out and perform some insignificant, yet noticeable spell. Merlin then explained of a time when he had, under his mother's instruction, forced his magic to hide away. It was about six days later when a branch on the large oak just outside Ealdor had set on fire, almost incinerating half of the tree. Arthur was sceptical as to how Merlin could classify that as an 'insignificant' spell, but Merlin had been quick to announce that, since he was this all-powerful 'Emrys', his magic was much stronger than most other sorcerers'. Arthur had held back a rude remark which he'd coupled with the word 'prat' in his mind and then realised the oddity of it and so kept his mouth firmly shut.

And so Arthur had been advised to learn one little, unimportant spell; one he could use for his own benefit, to keep his magic active so it didn't get jaded and misbehave. It was the spell to light a small fire – _Forbærne _– which Merlin had taught him. It had taken him a few times to get the pronunciation right, and it was his first proper spell – much different to casting magic without an incantation – but once these problems were solved he could cast the spell easily and would do it as often as possibly to disallow an untimely or unwanted revealing of his magic. He would cast it when it got dark on a candle; he cast it one night when he and the knights were out searching for bandits. Merlin was usually around at these times, and Arthur found himself mildly proud when he pleased and impressed Merlin. It was an irrational, odd feeling, but he would ignore it.

Merlin walked in on Arthur's vigil at his father's bedside. Since Arthur had come to see his father about two hours ago he had been asleep, and Arthur didn't have the heart to wake him. He would tell him of council matters tomorrow; now, his father needed rest.

The warlock (for Merlin had insisted to Arthur that, really, he wasn't a 'sorcerer') gingerly approached Uther's bed. He looked uncomfortable – like he was almost ashamed for walking in on such a private moment between father and son. Arthur, sensing his servant's unease, gently ushered him closer, showing that he had no objections to Merlin's presence. Merlin's steps were surer as he continued, in a quiet pace, towards the bed.

"Is he okay?" Merlin asked in a whisper. Arthur swallowed.

"He's been sleeping since I arrived." He said, cursing internally as his voice threatened to crack. "I haven't spoken to him."

Merlin held up a small vial, "I visited Gaius – he said that he should drink it as soon as possible."

"What is it?" Arthur questioned, taking the vial from Merlin's gangly fingers and studying it. It was a repulsive green colour, and Arthur guessed from experience that it tasted disgusting.

"I don't know," Merlin admitted, "but I think it's some kind of pain relief."

Uther stirred in his sleep, groaning uncomfortably. The first noise he'd made in over an hour.

"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur muttered, wrapping his fingers tightly around the vial as if it were his father's last lifeline he was protecting. "That'll be all."

Merlin blinked, "Are you not going to bed? You have council meetings in the morning. You'll be exhausted."

Arthur frowned, knowing Merlin was speaking the truth, "But my father-,"

"Will be here when you get back."

"Don't interrupt me, Merlin." Arthur scolded half-heartedly. Merlin clearly didn't take the comment personally though, and Arthur didn't try to apologise for it. The two sat in silence for a few seconds, before Arthur told Merlin to get some sleep. Merlin's forehead creased.

"Arthur-,"

"I'll be fine, Merlin." Arthur whispered, giving a small smile, "Contrary to all your beliefs, I can protect myself."

It was a surprise to Arthur that Merlin decided not to argue. Giving the Prince a little nod of the head, Merlin got up and headed for the door. He anxiously and slowly exited the room, his eyes never really leaving the Prince until he was out the door.

It was a few minutes later when Arthur finally caved in and decided that he needed to sleep. He turned to Uther's bedside table, where the candle he had magically lit a couple of hours ago sat flickering gently. He recited the only other spell he knew - the spell to put out the fire that his other spell created – and the little flame died out. He dryly thought that it was important for his magic to get some variation in its 'exercise' – it often got bored of the same trick and Arthur wondered if Merlin would ever choose to teach him another one – before he stood up and made for the door, leaving the little vial on the bedside table.

Arthur gasped as something clutched onto his wrist. He turned back in shock to see his father, eyes open, looking helpless and pitiful. Arthur could've screamed out at how weak his father looked, how unfamiliar the face of his own parent was.

Arthur then started to panic as he wondered if his father had seen him perform magic. He thought up a simple explanation – he would say that his father had been hallucinating, perhaps. A cruel lie, but a necessity; for now, anyway.

But if Uther had seen the trick, he did not seem to care. He stared up at Arthur, his wide eyes hollow but painful, like a thousand fears were floating around in the two orbs of nothingness.

"Arthur, no."

Arthur's heart sunk. Had he seen? "Father-,"

"Arthur, don't leave me."

Arthur didn't know whether to be relieved or upset. "Father…"

_"Please."_

The crack in Arthur's armour was broken through as he heard his strong father's pitiful plea. Sinking back onto the stool, his eyes never leaving their locked position on his father, he squeezed his father's hand in comfort.

"Don't leave me." His father continued to beg.

"I won't, Father." An old fear of Arthur's dredged up; a fear that had existed upon when he first discovered his magic. A fear that said he would abandon his father – the sorcerer killer, the man who was weeding out his own kin. Determined, Arthur spoke, "I'll never leave you." He promised.

Arthur remained by his father's side for hours afterwards. He gave him the tonic Gaius had prepared, talked to him gently about the day's events, and stayed for a good few hours after Uther fell into slumber. It was early morning when Arthur blew out the candle and left his father's bedside, hoping to get a good couple of hours rest before the first council meeting.

* * *

Arthur despised these meetings. Maybe it was because his father was usually the one to take them and so he wasn't used to running these meetings in such a way. Maybe he would rather be out training or spending time with Guinevere or learning about his magic whilst teasing Merlin. Or maybe he could feel every eye of the elder members of the council fixed on him, judging him as a leader, as the King he would one day become.

He didn't know whether they saw his eventual reign as a good thing or a bad.

He was grateful to finally escape that cursed room, and even more grateful to find Merlin in his chambers afterwards, with all of his gear ready for training the knights. After training, Merlin was again there, ready with Arthur's lunch. During lunch, Arthur ate while Merlin polished his armour (with his magic, mind you) and cleaned Arthur's room a little. Once Merlin had finished his chores, Arthur suggested that Merlin should sit and join him, and the two of them enjoyed the precious free time they had. Arthur was even gracious enough to offer Merlin some meat and a handful of bread, which Merlin munched gratefully. Arthur scolded Merlin for his awful table manners, but did it with a smile. He didn't mean it – he was just grateful to see skinny little Merlin eat something, and with such pleasure.

They kept up light conversation throughout the lunch. Merlin asked about training and the council meeting and Arthur replied politely, trying not to moan about the tedious meetings and the new, less-able trainees that had just came in with hope to join the Knights and their family's seal to prove who they were. Arthur was fed up of that tradition and didn't understand why it was still necessary – after all, a small handful of his most trusted and skilful Knights weren't of noble descent, and Arthur found himself growing closest to those men, anyway.

The topic of magic was pretty much avoided. Arthur made a small joke about Merlin using magic to do his chores and asked if he had done this before, to which Merlin had replied with a false 'no', but that was all that was said on the matter. It wasn't avoided like the plague, though; more like a closed matter that was done, dusted, and behind them. Both of them now saw their magic as a neutral, maybe even _good, _thing. Arthur still was a little hesitant on the matter (especially concerning both his own magic and Merlin's secret-keeping) but he wasn't constantly complaining or worrying, like he had been in the earlier stages of his recently-awakened magic possession.

As Arthur took the last few bites of his food, Merlin choked down the last piece of his bread (which had lasted him a long time, considering his animalistic table manners), before getting up and finding one of Arthur's sleeveless jackets for him to wear over the blue tunic he was now wearing. Merlin sighed before he asked Arthur, "So how was your father?"

An innocent enough question. Arthur knew his servant meant him no harm, but he couldn't help feeling the words as physical injuries. As a warrior, he loathed feeling so weak. He longed for the days as a child when he could crawl into his Father's lap and hold him tightly until all his fears vanished. The very image of that strong, dependable man he'd seen his Father as when he was young, alongside the weak, frail shadow of that man from last night, made Arthur's skin crawl and his eyes sting.

Arthur was grateful that Merlin didn't pick up on these things, though. Or maybe he was just choosing to ignore it. Maybe Merlin was finally getting it – Arthur didn't enjoy being babied on, and so in his weakest moments he preferred it if people just walked on by. Unhealthy? Maybe. But Arthur was perfectly fine with bottling everything up – at least, for now.

"I've seen him better," Arthur admitted, before frowning, "But I suppose I've seen him worse."

Merlin nodded, his encouraging gaze inviting. "What happened? Did you give him Gaius' tonic?"

"Yes," Arthur recalled, making sure he could picture the little vial in his head, completely empty.

"Do you know what's wrong with him?" Merlin pressed, trying to remain soft in his tone.

Arthur shrugged. "He's… unwell." He admitted. "He looked so broken. So unlike his old self." Arthur then scoffed, but the noise lacked humour. "Imagine how much worse he'll be when I tell him the truth."

Merlin frowned, sensing Arthur's discomfort. Though Arthur had warmed to the idea of his magic, the idea of telling his father was still as cold as ice. "Arthur, if you don't want to tell him-,"

"And then what, Merlin?" Arthur demanded, his voice low but his deep-seated anger that always bubbled away when difficult topics involving his father were concerned, "Spend my whole life after his death knowing that I lied to my own father in his final time in this world? Hate myself for my entire life because my father went to his grave not knowing who I truly am?"

Arthur rested his heavy head on one of his hands and his elbow on the desk, a look of exhaustion on his face, as well as pure regret. Arthur knew he couldn't let his father die; not without telling him of the events of the past few months. However, that day was assumed to be coming faster than necessary. It was pretty much an unspoken truth that Uther had little time left to live – Gaius had diagnosed him when he had become bedridden and was trying to discover his illness. But, somehow – whether his magical instincts or his blood connection with the King were the reason – he knew that the day was nearing that he would have to take the thrown, and he hated that. He didn't believe himself worthy, ready. Merlin and Guinevere were more positive on the subject, but Arthur wasn't sure he could do it – not without the closure that he needed from his father. He just needed to talk to him, even if it was one last time, with Uther in a fully conscious, healthy state.

He despaired that this was just some hopeless dream. He feared that last night was the final time he would see his Father awake and alive, and that the final memory of his Father he would possess was the image of him as that weak, piteous ghost of a man.

And as a knock on the door alerted him to his space and he was faced with the elderly Court Physician and that solemn face he wore, his heart sank to the bottom of his chest.

He knew what was coming.

...

...

...

* * *

_Dying._

The thought tore Arthur asunder.

He was _dying._

As in, he was alive, but not for much longer. Now he was alive. Soon he would be _dead. _

_Dead. _He would _die. _

And then the young Prince would be alone.

All alone.

Looking back he knew that this was not the case. He had Gaius, he had Guinevere, he had Merlin, and he had his Knights. But that was all he could think of, as Gaius explained that his Father merely had days to live, at best. He restricted himself from becoming angry. Why hadn't Gaius discovered this _earlier? _Why hadn't he done this _before? _Why did his Father have to leave him _now _– he still had plenty to learn and so much to say and he couldn't just sit by and watch as his Father died.

_Died._

_Dying._

"I'm sorry, Arthur."

_Sorry. _Why was he sorry? It's not like he'd tried his hardest to save the King, only to fail. Then, maybe Arthur could've accepted the apology. But how could the Court Physician possibly be _sorry? _He hadn't tried, and so he hadn't failed. He wasn't _going to _fail. He was the greatest physician in Camelot, right? So why didn't he _do something? _

"Arthur, it's going to be okay-,"

_Okay? _How the hell was it going to be _okay? _What was that stupid sorcerer _thinking? _Uther had raised Arthur, and was the reason for many of his traits, his lessons, and his skills; both good and in-need-of-improvement. Arthur still had so much to learn – so, _so _much. And he had so much to say. About his reign. About how he loved his Father. About his magic.

_His magic. _The worst company of all at this time. Also the company that, unlike Merlin and Gaius, he couldn't order to leave the room. It stuck there like Arthur's shadow, trying to be comforting but making it worse. Arthur laughed bitterly as he thought that the magic was essentially like a gangly, awkward boy stood in the room with him, trying to make everything better and failing miserably. Merlin had not been wrong when he had said that he _was _magic. They were both terrible company.

As Arthur sat as his Father's bedside, his thoughts were rather cyclical – _dying, sorry, okay, magic. _Back to _dying. _Maybe an odd cry for his Father's well-being; for his love for his Father; praying for him to get better.

Useless. Never had he felt so utterly useless. Because he could protect his Father with a sword – he could protect his whole _kingdom _with a sword in his hand. But what was he here, as this pitiful, hopeless wreck that kept following the same pointless circle of unhelpful thoughts?

He needed his Father's advice. _Father, what do I do? _He would think to himself – not much use voicing his questions to his unconscious Father to himself – _help me, please. _No matter how Arthur admired his Father as a King, though, he doubted he could help to heal himself, or he'd have done it already.

But he couldn't. And so Uther was just as useless to himself as Arthur was to him, as Gaius was, as _anyone_ was.

_Useless. _Even with his magic.

_Magic! _Where was Merlin? Now he felt awful for telling Merlin to leave, but he had just been so angry and Merlin had been so falsely optimistic, telling him it was going to be _okay._

_Okay. _No, not it wasn't. How could it possibly be? Maybe Merlin had only said that because he was sorry for him.

_Sorry. _Why was he sorry?

Because his Father was _dying._

Arthur's head jolted up as he heard a tentative knock on the door, followed by Merlin's head popping around the side of it. Arthur sighed, but for all it was worth, he just didn't have the heart to send Merlin away again. He beckoned Merlin over, and the warlock smiled for a brief second before coming over. He bowed at both Arthur and Uther in his bed, out of respect. _Respect? _The warlock and concept combined were a laughable notion.

"How is he?" Merlin asked.

"Fine." Arthur responded. _Ha. _What another stupid thought. _Fine. _The dying man in the bed wasn't _fine, _and neither was Arthur.

"I'm sorry." Merlin said, after a long pause. First Gaius, now Merlin. Arthur didn't need their sympathy. Or maybe he did. He didn't know anymore. To be honest, at that point, there was nothing he wanted to do more than fall into a heap on the floor and scream. "I wish there was something I could do. Something I could do to help."

"There's nothing." Arthur murmured, "Nothing can be done to save him." A spark fuzzed inside of him, "Unless… your magic…"

Merlin's face fell immediately. "I tried." He said.

"Well, try harder." Arthur demanded, even though something in Merlin's voice showed that he already had.

"Arthur," Merlin sighed.

"_Merlin." _Arthur interrupted. There was a look that Merlin gave him next. Something of an apology; that Merlin had done all he could. He just wished he could do more. Arthur realised that even magic had its difficulties. His hopes collapsed again, and he turned back to his Father, chin balanced on his knuckles. "I wish there was some way I could talk to him." Arthur confessed, "Just one more time. And not just as that crazed, weak man – as the man he was before. Healthy and strong and well." He twisted his view to Merlin again, "Is that so much to ask?"

Arthur could've sworn he saw it. Merlin's eyes danced suddenly at a thought. The spark of hope flickered again, like a candle he would light again with his magic after putting it out, just for pure entertainment. Arthur hoped that, unlike the lighting of the candle, this spark would not be extinguished so quickly again.

"What are you scheming, Merlin?" Arthur asked, sarcasm only just playing at his tone. Merlin was now smiling; a small one, but one nonetheless.

"His dreams." He mused, "His mind. You could enter his mind and talk to him. I could send you in there with my magic-,"

"Merlin, what are you on about?" Arthur called after him, but Merlin had jogged out of the room before Arthur could stop him. He returned a few minutes later with a thick book he had announced as the spell book Gaius had given him in his first few days in Camelot. He held it up at a particular page, but of course, looking at hundreds of scribbles of nonsensical words really didn't help Arthur understand what Merlin's plan was. After a few seconds of Merlin glaring at Arthur, expecting a response when Arthur had nothing beneficial to offer, the warlock just sighed with irritation.

"Back before you knew about your magic, I transported myself into your dreams, remember?" Arthur nodded, "Well, maybe I could do the same now! I could send you into your Father's dreams – it's probably the same concept; just change the names and we're good-,"

"Merlin." Arthur interrupted, "_Probably?" _

Merlin gave an innocent smile. "Probably." His little smile grew into a grin, "You don't need to worry, Arthur – I'm perfectly practised."

"Indeed." Arthur grumbled, before waving his hand in an uninterested signal. However something bubbled inside of him with excitement – the prospect of being able to talk to his Father, even if this was the final time, was invigorating and nerve-wrecking all at the same time. He had so much he needed to say, so much to thank his Father for. Would he have enough time to do it in? "Get on with it, then."

Merlin's smile turned reassuring, before he turned his attention to the impressively thick book. He flicked through a few random pages, before letting out a small "Ah!" and holding up his hand, ready to cast the spell. Arthur closed his eyes, took a breath, ready to hear the foreign words. But Merlin said nothing. Arthur huffed, "Get on with it, then."

Merlin huffed back in response. "Well, I need your help first."

Arthur opened and rolled his eyes, "Oh lovely." He muttered, "Magic's getting exercise a little earlier today, hmm?"

Merlin just fixed Arthur with a stern look which made Arthur almost chuckle.

"You don't have to do anything magical." Merlin stated, "Just… cross your legs. Put your hands in your lap."

Arthur pulled a face, but did not argue. He struggled to cross his legs – something he hadn't done since a child – but once he was balanced (albeit precariously) on his seat, cross-legged, he nodded to Merlin for his next instruction.

"Close your eyes." Merlin said, and so Arthur did so, "And after I say the first part of the spell, I need you to start picturing your father. Everything that makes him who he is, or made him who he was."

"Right." To see his father once more, Arthur was more than happy to comply. Though he couldn't see with his eyes closed, he heard Merlin take a deep breath and could almost picture him lifting his hand to perform the spell. Merlin began talking in that different tone, in that foreign language.

_"Ábeþecest þá swefn sylfum Uther Pendragon."_

Merlin took a breath, and so Arthur started to do as he had been asked. Picture his father. He grasped on to every memory, every moment that involved his father. From when he was just a child to even the most recent conversations. He had a perfect picture of his father in his mind and knew Merlin would be pleased. Arthur wondered if Merlin had to picture Uther too, and knew that Merlin's perceptive of his father may be a little darker and weaker than his own. He hoped that wouldn't cause any problems.

Arthur knew now that both of their magic was being used in the spell – he could feel both his magic and Merlin's sparkling – albeit his was sparkling a little brighter, despite his lack in talent when it came to the art of sorcery. He squinted an eye open just a little and was shocked by the glowing blue bubble that surrounded him, tinted with red around the edges, swirling around like blood in a stream. This must've been his own magic, and his own memories – aiding Merlin with the spell. Arthur heard Merlin begin speaking again, this time much louder, his voice far deeper.

_ "Scéawungmin drút þá swefn. ÁseteArthur æt se_ _blædsylfum Uther Pendragon."_

* * *

**A/N: To be continued... :)**

**Yeah, so, I dunno when the second half of this'll be up. Oh well. At least it's not finished yet :P**

**I hope you enjoyed that! Hopefully it made up for my awfully long absence... *face palm***

**~Amy x**


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